


Hopeless Haze - Volume II: Sam's Town

by thesunisgone



Series: Hopeless Haze [2]
Category: The Killers (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Complete, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunisgone/pseuds/thesunisgone
Summary: Ronnie headed for the door and spared the singer a glance before leaving. He felt guilty, but they had so many pointless spats nowadays that he knew everything would be fine later. The drummer shut the door behind him as he walked out. Fighting was part of being in a relationship, right? It was healthy, right?Originally posted on Wattpad under the username thesunisgone.





	Hopeless Haze - Volume II: Sam's Town

**Chapter I: _I've Got This Sentimental Heart_**

  
  
  
Dave awoke on the small couch and stretched with a groan. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the clock on the wall. It was only seven-fifteen in the morning and his two bandmates seemed to still be asleep. The guitarist decided to just go back to sleep and catch a few more hours of rest. He shut his eyes and felt the familiar sleepy feeling return to him.  
  
Just before he slipped back into his sleep, he heard a loud crash. It sounded like a big clutter falling onto the ground, followed by a groan of pain.  
  
Dave's eyes flew open and he practically leapt off the couch. He quickly made his way to the hallway and stood outside the bedroom door, waiting to see if he heard anything else. There was silence for a few moments and the guitarist considered going back to the couch. Then he heard a strangled grunt and suddenly he was concerned again. With his hand firmly placed on the knob, he pushed himself inside.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL IS GO- oh my god," Dave immediately regretted ever leaving the couch.  
  
Looking back at him was a completely naked and wide-eyed Brandon laying down next to a kneeling Ronnie, who was staring at Dave in an equal amount of shock. Ronnie's hand was around Brandon's dick. And the fingers of his other hand were inside of Brandon's... oh god.  
  
"Oh," Ronnie said nervously, "you're up early."  
  
Dave wanted to be angry now that he had the image of one of his best friends finger-fucking his other best friend forever ingrained in his memory. But, he decided he couldn't be mad. After all, he was the guest in this house.  
  
"Oh, god. I'm-I'm sorry," Dave felt his whole body turn red in embarrassment, "I just heard clutter outside and I got worried."  
  
"No, no," Brandon interjected and motioned towards the nightstand, "I'm sorry! I made a mess trying to find the lube." Dave shuddered at the last word.  
  
"It's fine-", Dave started.  
  
"Dave, I'm sorry. Really, I was tryin' to keep him quiet," Ronnie looked at him apologetically, but the significance of his apology was lost as Ronnie smirked at the singer, "but he just couldn't help it-"  
  
"It's fucking fine!," Dave nervously chuckled and looked away, "I'm gonna-I'm gonna go back to sleep. Uh... have fun, I guess."  
  
"Okay," Brandon flashed him a sincere smile, "good morning!"  
  
Dave shut the door so fast that Brandon's farewell was muffled. He felt a twinge of anger at the thought of how casual Brandon was acting after that. But again, this was their house. He was just the guest.  
  
Dave walked back over to the couch and laid down with a long sigh. He was still pretty tired, but the picture of what he just witnessed kept finding its way to his thoughts.  
  
Just when he thought he could fall asleep again, another grunt came from the room. Dave swore to himself and resisted the urge to scream before deciding it was just time to start the day.  
  
Living with the couple has hard. Though it was mostly Brandon who got on his nerves, Dave felt as if the two of them were sometimes out to get him. The guitarist decided that he would start house hunting.  
  
Dave pulled into the apartment's small parking lot. He had just gotten back from looking at some houses for sale nearby. There was nothing he was interested in, and he was happy to get back to the apartment and relax after a disappointing day. It had been a couple of days since the last incident with his bandmates, so he was hoping to get through the rest of the day peacefully.  
  
Unfortunately, things weren't always that easy. Dave opened the door and saw Brandon kneeling on the floor in front of Ronnie who was sitting on the couch, dick completely down the singer's throat.  
  
"JESUS CHRIST," Dave made Brandon jump and pull off Ronnie, "I SLEEP THERE, YOU ASSHOLES."  
  
"Good afternoon to you, too," Ronnie breathed, "we're just having fun, you know."  
  
"That's fine but why can't you do it in your own fucking ROOM?!" Dave said, exasperated.  
  
"Well, we were talking out here and it just kinda happened," Brandon smiled at Dave, "but don't worry! None of it will get on the couch." The singer winked at Ronnie.  
  
"Oh my fucking god, shut up," Dave put his hands on his face.  
  
"Look, we'll fucking power wash the couch when we're done if you want but can you just like... leave us alone for a little bit," Ronnie carded his hand through Brandon's hair.  
  
"Fine, whatever," Dave grabbed his acoustic guitar from the corner of the room, "I'll be in the fucking bathroom if you need me."  
  
"Thanks, Dave! You're the best- oh fuck," Ronnie called to Dave as the guitarist made his way to the bathroom. Dave couldn't see him, but by the way the sentence ended he figured Brandon had returned to his previous activities.  
  
He really needed to find a new place.  
  
Later that day (or early the next day), Dave found himself fully dressed on the couch (which now had a sheet over the cushions). He must have fallen asleep while he was watching the (newly-installed) TV earlier. It was still dark outside, so Dave decided to quickly change in the darkness of the living room before going to the bathroom to wash up and go to bed. He yawned, scratched his head, and made his way to the bathroom.  
  
Dave opened the door to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and screamed.  
  
Ronnie had Brandon bent over the bathroom counter, hand over the singer's mouth, and thrusted into him once before acknowledging the guitarist's presence.  
  
"Oh, fancy seeing you here," Ronnie removed his hand from Brandon's mouth, "how are you."  
  
"Why are you two... everywhere?" Dave didn't even sound angry, he just sounded distraught.  
  
"Hey," Brandon beamed at Dave, "I had Ronnie cover my mouth so I'd be quiet! I thought we were doing you a favor."  
  
"Doing me a favor would be FUCKING IN YOUR OWN BED FOR ONCE," Dave screamed. Okay, he sounded angry now.  
  
"It's our house," Ronnie said defensively, "we can fuck where we please."  
  
"This is the bathroom, why can't the bathroom be off-limits," Dave cried, "And it's two in the morning. Did you guys wake up at the same time just to do this?"  
  
"Well," Brandon looked behind his shoulder and smirked at Ronnie, "who said we ever went to sleep?" Ronnie smirked back before leaning down and kissing Brandon sloppily.  
  
"Oh my god, I can't do this anymore," Dave closed his eyes and shook his head, "I need to leave. You guys are uncontrollable."  
  
"Now do you see why keeping this a secret on tour was so hard?!" Ronnie said as he pulled away from the kiss, "You really should thank us for sparing you all those times."  
  
"YOU WANT ME TO THANK Y- okay, okay," Dave put his hands in the air in defeat, "I'm just going to go to bed. Clean up whatever mess you make and go to Hell when you're done. Bye," Dave slammed the door behind him.  
  
Dave made his way back to the couch and flopped down on it. He just wanted one week where he didn't have to watch his bandmates on top of each other.  
  
Dave got comfortable once again on the couch and sighed thinking about how this next tour would go with the couple.  
  
  
  
Once November rolled around Dave had been staying at Brandon’s apartment for an entire month. Brandon insisted on having a proper Thanksgiving dinner—Ronnie thought it was endearing. Dave couldn’t care less. As days passed the singer’s desire to have said dinner became more apparent. Before they knew it, the three of them found themselves preparing for a feast. Dave had gone out to fetch some last minute items, leaving Brandon and Ronnie home to bake the pie. Pumpkin pie, to be exact. The couple stood in Brandon’s small kitchen surrounded by various ingredients.  
  
“So…” Brandon started, leaning against the counter. “What first?” Ronnie had his head in a book he had borrowed from his mother titled “Baking for Dummies”.  
  
“We need flour. All-purpose flour? Isn't all flour for all purposes?” Ronnie peered up at Brandon, who shrugged. “We need two and a half cups of flour and—sugar? What the fuck?”  
  
Brandon scoffed and went to join Ronnie at the book, “what kind of recipe is this?”  
  
“Martha Stewart.” Brandon laughed. “I’m being serious.”  
  
“I need a drink,” the singer headed towards the fridge to grab a bottle of beer—Ronnie decided not to say anything.  
  
“Didn’t she just get out of prison?” Ronnie asked, “what was she there for?” Brandon shrugged and began to rifle through a drawer for a bottle opener.  
  
“Who the hell knows,” he said as he found his prize. He popped the cap off and let it fall onto the linoleum floor. Ronnie grimaced as Brandon ignored the discarded cap.  
  
“You’re gonna slip on that and die,” Ronnie said flatly.  
  
A sour look made its way onto Brandon’s face. “It’s fine,” he said harshly. Ronnie sighed and went to pick up the cap. As he threw it in the trash he heard Brandon slam his bottle onto the counter in annoyance.  
  
“Let’s get back to the flour,” Ronnie said, trying to change the mood. He reached past Brandon’s head and grabbed a measuring cup from the pantry. Afterwards, he went to open the bag of flour—it went everywhere. The white powder shot up into the air like a plume of smoke. It covered everything in the area; the floor, the countertops—even Brandon. The singer simply stared at Ronnie, who began to grin sheepishly.  
  
“Whoops?” Brandon was covered with the powder, his face a uniform shade of white. “Look—I’ll get it. See?” Ronnie leaned in to give Brandon long kiss. The singer melted under the older man’s touch as Ronnie licked the powder from his lips. After a moment, Ronnie recoiled in disgust and spat viciously into the sink that was thankfully next to them.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” Ronnie said as he retched over the sink. “That tastes terrible!” Brandon stood confused next to him before bursting with laughter.  
  
“What?” He asked, faking a hurtful tone, “me?” Ronnie’s gaze shot up to Brandon.  
  
“Wha-?” At first, the drummer was genuinely concerned that Brandon thought he was talking about him; when he saw the boy’s smirk, though, he understood. “Yes, you!” Brandon faked a sob.  
  
“I let you into my home and this is how you treat me?” Brandon took a swig of his beer, “I let you bake my pies!” The drummer had a hard time keeping a straight face, but he managed. “I let you into my heart! I cannot believe this slander!” Now it was Ronnie’s turn to laugh.  
  
“Baby, please, it’s not what it looks like-”  
  
“My pies, Ronald!”  
  
“How can I make it up to you, baby? Please take me back.” Ronnie took Brandon’s hand and held it tightly between his own. Brandon looked him in the eye and contemplated for a moment.  
  
“We can talk about that later…”  
  
“Poor Dave has already been through so much, Brandon.”  
  
The singer smirked, “you’ll just have to stay quiet, then.” Brandon escaped Ronnie’s grasp and began to wipe the powder that was still on his face away. “But for now? Help me make this goddamn pie.”  
  
The two Killers continued to make their pie for much longer than was probably necessary. By the time they were done, Dave had returned; he had been given a spare key and entered the apartment with no warning. When he stepped in, rotisserie chicken in hand, what he saw shocked him; even after having witnessed this time and time again, he was surprised. Brandon, sitting on the counter, being devoured by Ronnie. Dave stood awkwardly in the doorway with the steaming chicken, not sure what to say. He cleared his throat—no change. The guitarist didn’t know what to do.  
  
“SO, THE STORE WAS OUT OF TURKEY SO I GOT CHICKEN INSTEAD!” Brandon pulled away from the drummer and peered into the living room.  
  
“Aw,” Brandon said. “It’s not Thanksgiving without turkey.” He looked back to Ronnie, “what will we do?”  
  
“We have our pie,” Ronnie replied.  
  
“You know what I just noticed?” Dave asked. Brandon, still on the counter, looked back at him. “You don't have a table.”  
Ronnie scoffed, “I know! I tell him these things but he just doesn't listen.”  
  
“Just like the caller ID!” Dave made his way to the kitchen and put the chicken next to Brandon. Ronnie went to get the other food from the fridge.  
  
“Why didn't we invite Mark?” Brandon asked, eyeing the chicken.  
  
“He’s in Texas with his family. We’ve been through this, Brandon.” Ronnie said, balancing multiple containers of various foods in his arms.  
  
“How did the pie go,” Dave asked as he reached for three plates. “I noticed the mess.”  
  
Ronnie groaned before sticking a tub of mashed potatoes into the microwave, “Flour is a bitch,” he said. Brandon gleefully swinged his legs from his place on the counter, eyeing the chicken with hungry eyes.  
  
“Where are we eating?” He asked, “the floor? I’m okay with it if you're okay with it.” As the microwave dinged, Ronnie and Dave shared a look and agreed to eat on the floor. “My floor is clean, anyway,” Brandon continued. Ronnie shook his head—Dave grimaced.  
  
“We’re a Grammy nominated band,” Dave said as he retrieved three wine glasses from the cupboard. “You would think that we would be able to eat at a fucking table-” Ronnie winked at Dave. “-GOD, NO!” Ronnie chuckled and Brandon smiled into the beer that he had picked up again. Even though Dave had a habit of walking in on the couple, Brandon enjoyed his company.  
  
The men all ended up sitting in a triangle formation with Brandon next to Ronnie and Dave sitting across from them. Before they sat down, the singer made the other two swear to be careful with their wine (red wine, to be exact—the drink of the night) because if they spilled it on Brandon’s carpet he would have never heard the end of it from his landlord. Brandon also put an album on his record player before he sat to eat—a Morrissey one, of course. The three chatted throughout the meal, but Dave dropped a bombshell on the couple as Ronnie served the pie.  
  
“So,” he said, mouth full. “I’ve found a place.” Ronnie and Brandon stared at the guitarist as his words sunk in.  
  
   “Like… a house?” Brandon asked, beginning to feel the affect of the alcohol in his body.  
  
“I already placed an offer,” the guitarist explained. “I think I’ll get it. If everything goes right I’ll be moved in by the beginning of December.”  
  
“That’s not very long,” Ronnie said, sitting back down next to his boyfriend.  
“Well, it’s not like I have a lot of stuff.” Oh, right. The only items Dave possessed was the stuff he brought back from the tour and anything he had bought since he moved in with Brandon a month prior. “It’s fully furnished.”  
  
“Well… congratulations, Dave!” Brandon said, raising his mostly empty glass into the air. “I hope we didn't chase you out with our... activities.”  
  
“No offense, Brandon, but after I’m gone I don't want to see your face for at least a week.” Ronnie chuckled at Dave’s statement. The drummer was happy to finally be alone with Brandon, but admitted to himself that he would miss the curly-haired man.  
  
“I mean… I don't blame you,” Brandon giggled into his glass and Ronnie pulled him to his side, letting the younger man rest his head on his shoulder.  
  
“I'm surprised that you didn't us leave sooner, honestly.” Brandon hummed in agreement, finishing off his wine. “Ain’t that right, baby?”  
  
Dave swallowed a bite of pie, “don't push it, Vannucci.”  
  
As December came, Dave left—Ronnie began to feel as if Brandon had too. The bubbly boy he had known in 2003 was gone, and the worst part was that Ronnie didn't understand why or where he had went. The drummer assumed it had something to do with Brandon’s drinking—which had also changed. The singer drank almost everyday, but thankfully not enough to get him drunk. Brandon only got drunk half the times Ronnie saw him nursing a bottle of the devil’s water, which he was glad for. Brandon had gone from being a happy (sometimes emotional) drunk to being a moody, angry one. Ronnie didn't understand what had happened.  
  
The two sat together on the couch, Ronnie on one end and Brandon laying on the other with his legs sprawled across the drummer’s lap. The singer was currently in one of his other new moods with a metaphorical grey cloud looming over his head. He lazily watched a nature documentary as Ronnie drummed a beat on his leg.  
  
“We should do something,” Ronnie said, stopping his drumming. Brandon glanced away from the TV.  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Well…” Ronnie looked around the apartment that he had learned to call home, “we haven't decorated for Christmas.”  
  
Brandon immediately perked up, “oh!” He sat up some, freeing Ronnie, “I don't have a tree.”  
  
“Well you don't have a dining table so I'm not that shocked.”  
  
“Will you ever learn to let that go?”  
  
Just thirty minutes later, Ronnie found himself at a local mall, hand intertwined with Brandon’s as they walked. Usually they would try to hide their relationship from the public, but the mall was crowded, it was Christmas, and the people of Las Vegas had stopped caring about The Killers for the time being. If Brandon was in a good mood Ronnie wasn't going to let anyone get in the way of him and his boyfriend.  
  
As they were making their way to a department store to get their tree, Ronnie stopped in front of a jewelry store. Brandon, not seeing any interest in the store, swung his and Ronnie’s arm between them like an impatient child. Ronnie watched as a man picked through a box of rings—he had an idea. Brandon eventually pulled Ronnie away and they continued their mission for a tree.  
  
The drummer didn't know what he had expected—Christmas was next week and the only tree in the store was one on the smaller side. Brandon stared, one hand on his hip and the other stroking the stubble on his chin.  
  
“Maybe it’s for the best,” he started, returning his gaze to Ronnie, “we don't have a lot of room and we still need to buy other decorations.” He had a point, the drummer decided.  
  
Ronnie motioned to the boxed ornaments to his left, “do you have a color preference?” The only color was blue. Brandon shrugged and went to grab the package.  
  
“I don’t mind it—my favorite color is blue.” Brandon stared at his reflection in the shiny ornaments and chuckled nervously, “you know, I sometimes wish I had blue eyes.” Ronnie watched as the singer stroked the box with his thumb, gazing at himself in the blue orbs.  
  
“I like your eyes,” the drummer said softly. Brandon looked back at him, surprised. “They’re deep brown some days and others they’re forest green.”  
  
“Dude… that’s some poetry right there,” the singer replied, not sure what to say. “That’s some gay shit if I do say so myself.”  
  
“I’m trying to compliment you!” Ronnie exclaimed, trying to hide his smile, “first the pies now this? Our relationship is falling apart.”  
  
Brandon laughed and shoved the box into Ronnie’s arms, “let’s get the lights and then get outta here.”  
  
“What do I get out of this?” Ronnie asked, “I’m the one paying.”  
  
Brandon placed a delicate hand on his hip and stared at the ceiling, “You can help me put the tree up and then we can… get down to the real business.”  
  
“But it’s Jesus’ birthday!”  
  
“Not yet, it isn't.”  
  
“What’s with you and birthdays?”  
  
Brandon looked mildly upset in his sleep, but it didn’t worry Ronnie—at least not as much as it used to. The drummer wished he could see the younger man’s thoughts—he wished he knew what was wrong. Just a few years prior Brandon would have shared his insecurities with him but these days all he did was keep them to himself. It was like he was self-destructing.  
  
It was eleven in the morning, Christmas day. Ronnie had been awake for a few hours already but he couldn't bring himself to get out of bed. Brandon had been up late the night before but Ronnie couldn't say for certain what he was doing. He could feel the singer laying awake for most of the night, staring at the ceiling. Around two in the morning, Ronnie felt Brandon get up and leave their bedroom. Maybe five minutes later he heard their door open again and Brandon returned, going to sit cross-legged in their bed. Ten minutes pass, and Ronnie hears something being placed on the nightstand with little care. Brandon lies back down and Ronnie doesn't roll over to see what it was, deciding it would be easier to sleep if he didn't.  
  
Brandon lazily opened his eyes, immediately finding Ronnie’s. They stared at each other for a moment before the singer smiled, “Merry Christmas, darlin’.”  
  
Ronnie returned the gesture and slid his hand between Brandon’s pillow and his head, playing with his hair. Brandon slid his eyes shut again and leaned into the drummer’s touch. “I was going to offer to take you to Waffle House, but I doubt they’re open,” Ronnie said.  
  
“That’s fine,” said Brandon, still soaking in the pleasure of being pampered by his boyfriend. “I wanna stay here a bit longer, anyway.” They laid there in silence for a few minutes before Brandon spoke again, “they are open though, a waitress there told me they would be when we were there last week.”  
  
Ronnie scoffed, “are you getting all buddy-buddy with the waitresses at Waffle House?”  
  
“You can’t control me, Ronald.”  
  
Maybe twenty minutes later the two got up, deciding they were hungry. Brandon dressed in a light pink button-down, which slightly excited Ronnie because he really liked it when Brandon wore that particular shirt. Just as Brandon grabbed the keys to his car Ronnie suggested they walk instead—it would only take 10 minutes due to Brandon’s apartment being close to the center of Vegas. Brandon agreed, and they held hands the whole way. Vegas didn't care.  
  
Their somewhat late breakfast was enjoyable. Ronnie learned that Brandon had a vendetta against frozen toaster waffles and that was the reason why he never ate them at home—that and he could never afford a waffle iron. Ronnie pointed out that they could afford a waffle iron now that the band had taken off, and Brandon stared out the window saying nothing for a moment.  
  
“We should have brought the car,” he finally said.  
  
Ronnie took a bite of his sausage, “why?”  
  
“We need to get a waffle iron right now, immediately.”  
  
“Brandon,” Ronnie replied, “every store is closed.”  
  
The singer gazed out the window again, “then what’s the goddamned point?”  
  
The couple finished eating and paid for their breakfast before returning home. Brandon had suddenly become very insistent on getting there so Ronnie could open his present. He skipped back to the apartment, hand intertwined with his boyfriend’s. When they arrived home, Brandon motioned for Ronnie to take a seat on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned with two glasses of champagne (which Ronnie wasn't opposed to for once) and put a record onto his turntable.  
  
“Okay… let me go get it,” Brandon said, taking a sip from his glass and heading to the hall.  
  
“Oh boy,” Ronnie responded, “does this have anything to do with that dream I had where you were wearing the sexy-”  
  
“Nope!” Ronnie heard Brandon rummage around in the hall closet before peaking his head around the corner, “okay, shut your eyes.”  
  
“This is the dream, isn't it!”  
  
“Ronnie! Close! Your! Eyes!” Ronnie groaned and reluctantly closed his eyes.  
  
“.... Okay. Open them now.”  
  
Ronnie was met with a glossy black acoustic guitar.  
  
It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen—except for Brandon, of course. Brandon stood in the center of the living room, beaming and holding the guitar awkwardly. The instrument seemed to engulf his tiny figure—Ronnie thought it was adorable.  
  
“Your old one was so… well, old. And ratty! No offense but I thought you could use a new one.” Brandon was right—Ronnie had been using that guitar since his first year at the University of Las Vegas. “Go on!” Brandon took a couple steps forward and leaned over the coffee table, handing Ronnie his new toy.  
  
Ronnie graciously took the guitar and strummed it for a moment, smiling. “Thank you so much, Brandon—I love it.” Ronnie leaned the guitar up against the sofa and pat the empty spot next to him, “come here, it’s your turn now.”  
  
Brandon beamed and rushed over, taking his champagne glass in his hand. He sat eagerly, waiting for Ronnie to give him his gift. Ronnie grinned, pulling a small box out of his pocket and presenting the contents to Brandon.  
  
Brandon stared. Ronnie noticed the glass in his hand begin to shake.  
  
“Brandon, what’s wrong? Brandon-”  
  
“Are you pr-proposing to m-me?” Brandon’s eyes wandered up to Ronnie’s, which had suddenly become very wide.  
  
“What? No no no no no. Oh, Brandon, I’m sorry. I'm not- I love you but no, I’m not. I just thought you’d like-”  
  
“You love me?”  
  
Now it was Ronnie’s turn to be shocked. “I’d do anything for you, Brandon.”  
  
“I…” Brandon’s eyes had filled with tiny tears, none yet spilling over. “I love you too.” Brandon held his hand up, signaling for Ronnie to slip the thin gold band onto his finger. After the ring was on, Ronnie slipped a matching one onto his own finger and gently grabbed Brandon’s chin, pulling him into a kiss.  
  
Brandon couldn't stop smiling.  
  
Brandon seemed to take the phrase “new year, new me” too literally. January came and went and so did Brandon’s beautiful, fluffy hair that Ronnie loved so much. He tried not to dwell on it too much—he still loved Brandon. The singer was still the most beautiful being he had ever seen, but it still hurt. Ronnie tried to get over it as soon as possible. It was just a haircut.  
  
February held new possibilities, however. Their anniversary, Valentine’s Day, and his birthday were all in February. Ronnie called it the “triple threat”.  
  
Triple Threat Eve had arrived, and Ronnie was very excited.  Brandon had been implying things all week. When he woke up the next morning, he found Brandon sitting cross-legged on their bed, smirking at him.  
  
That was the best hour and a half of his life.  
  
The rest of the day they lounged around, enjoying each other’s company before going out to dinner. When they returned to Brandon’s car, the singer didn't start the engine immediately.  
  
“I have one last surprise for you…” Brandon said, grinning.  
  
Ronnie didn't know what to think, “...yes?” Brandon’s smile became more devilish as he reached towards the drummer. Ronnie’s heart began racing. Here? In this parking lot? Right now? Well okay!  
  
Ronnie’s excitement was short-lived as he realized Brandon was reaching for the glove box. The singer rummaged through his cassette tapes and receipts until he pulled out a black tie.  
  
Ronnie was confused, but in a good way.  
  
“Come here,” Brandon said, stretching out the tie in his hands. Ronnie raised a brow and leaned towards the singer, who began to blindfold the older man.  
  
“Brandon, what is this?” Ronnie didn't object to his newfound lack of sight, but he at least wanted to know what was going on.  
  
“It’s a surprise,” Brandon secured the tie around Ronnie’s head and went to start his car. “I’m taking you somewhere special.”  
  
Ronnie scoffed, “you say that, but you're really just going to drive around in circles for five minutes then suck my dick.”  
  
“Is that what you want me to do?”  
  
Ronnie thought for a moment, “maybe another day.”  
  
They drove in silence save for the radio in Brandon’s car (which he had just gotten fixed!). Ronnie guessed it took them twenty minutes to get to wherever they were going, but he couldn't really say for sure.  
  
Eventually, the car stopped. “I’ll be just a moment more. Don't peek!” Ronnie heard Brandon exit the vehicle, then the trunk opening. He became nervous. Was Brandon actually a murderer? Was he Jenny?  
  
Ronnie heard the trunk slam shut and Brandon’s shoes crunching on gravel. It was silent for a minute, then Ronnie’s door opened. He felt Brandon take his hand to lead him out into the cool desert air. The night wasn't cold, but just chilly enough for Ronnie to cling to the younger man’s body once he was out of the car.  
  
“Just a little bit further…” Brandon said, leading the drummer to what he assumed was the front of the car. Suddenly, Ronnie felt a kiss on his lips. His eyes slid shut as Brandon’s hands made their way to the back of Ronnie’s head, unfastening the tie. Brandon pulled away, having decided that he had teased the drummer enough; Ronnie opened his eyes.  
  
It was dark.  
  
Ronnie looked around and only saw the vastness of the desert and concrete surrounding him; a building sat in the distance. The drummer also assumed that the thing Brandon had gotten out of his trunk was the blanket which was now on the hood of his car. Ronnie looked up.  
  
“Have you ever seen the lights?” Brandon asked, following his gaze. Ronnie began to smile uncontrollably before hugging the singer.  
  
“Have I ever told you that I love you? Because I do.” Brandon laughed, squeezing the other man tighter.  
  
“I can't promise you a meteor shower, but I can promise that your wish came true.” Ronnie broke away from the singer and looked him in the eye.  
  
“I don't doubt it, Brandon,” Ronnie said. “Not for a single moment.”

 

  
  
**Chapter II: _I Look A Little Bit Colder_**  


  
  
Brandon’s keyboard sat atop the coffee table, it’s owner playing with it’s keys.  
  
A…. F#.… E…. G….  
  
“Oh, God no,” Brandon cursed from his spot on the floor. Ronnie, who was on the couch, chuckled.  
  
A…. F#…. E…. C#  
  
Brandon beamed, taking a sip from a wine glass. He leaned to his left and wrote the notes down in a notebook that was also sitting on the ground.  
  
A…. F#.... E…. A…. B-B-B-B-B-A  
  
“What’s this one for?” Ronnie asked as Brandon wrote the next string of notes down. “Reasons?”  
  
“Nah,” the singer said. “Bones I think.”  
  
“Ah,” Ronnie hummed. “What about my Enterlude?”  
  
“Enterlude?” Brandon asked, taking another sip of his wine.  
  
Ronnie crossed his arms, “you promised me an Enterlude.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. I did.” Brandon paused, “I’ll have to work on that.”  
  
“I don't want you to force anything-”  
  
“No,” Brandon interrupted, “I already have an idea.”  
  
Work on the new album was going pretty well. The four would meet a couple times a week at the studio to share ideas and give updates on how other things were going. This left Ronnie only a few days to do his own thing with Brandon. It was a Wednesday, meaning that the drummer would be going out later to pick up a few things. This week, Ronnie’s list consisted of food, shampoo, and Brandon’s anxiety medicine for planes. The singer had requested more in case they were called out to London or L.A. at the last minute, but Ronnie suspected Brandon had been taking it at home. Maybe that had something to do with Brandon’s low mood all the time.  
  
“Can you get whiskey too?” Brandon asked as he unplugged his keyboard and set it aside. “We’re out.”  
  
“You’re out,” Ronnie grumbled, suddenly being put into a bad mood. Ronnie rarely drank what Brandon kept in his fridge.  
  
“Well,” Brandon put his hands on his hips and sneered, “can you get me some while you’re out?”  
  
“If you want it you’ll have to get it yourself,” Ronnie crossed his arms and looked Brandon in the eye.  
  
Brandon looked confused, squinting in the drummer’s direction. “What’s your problem?” He asked.  
  
“I don't have a problem.” Ronnie stood from his spot on the couch and slid past Brandon, grabbing his keys on the bar. He suddenly wanted to get his errands out of the way. “If you want that shit then you buy it.”  
  
Brandon stood awkwardly in the living room, not sure if he was angry or sad. He felt that way a lot lately. “Are you going now?”  
  
“I’ll be back later,” Ronnie headed for the door and spared the singer a glance before leaving. He felt guilty, but they had so many pointless spats nowadays that he knew everything would be fine later. The drummer shut the door behind him as he walked out. Fighting was part of being in a relationship, right? It was healthy, right?  
  
Brandon was left alone with his thoughts.  
  
He contemplated his relationship with his boyfriend and opted to just finish the bottle of wine he had gotten out instead of refilling his now empty glass. Afterwards, he returned to his spot on the floor and flipped to a blank page in his notebook. The singer thought back on the days before they were a thing and took a sip of his wine, smiling fondly. He tried to push back his negative thoughts about Ronnie but found them being replaced with something else that was dark as well. Brandon grimaced, and went back to thinking about his innocent crush from 2003. Darkness still slipped through the cracks of his alcohol muddled brain. He picked up his pen and began to write.  
  
“There’s a plane and I am flying… there’s a mountain waiting for me…”  
  
  
Ronnie had gotten back later than usual, wanting some fresh air. When he did return home it was already dark—both outside and in. The drummer decided it was best to assume that Brandon had gone to bed early. Ronnie sighed in relief—that made things easier. When he entered the apartment, though, he was greeted by an old friend.  
  
Brandon, still on the floor, slaving away over his notebook with a pen in one hand and his wine in the other. The bottle sat atop the coffee table and Brandon nearly knocked it over when he braced himself on the table to stand.  
  
“Ronnie!” The drummer could tell that Brandon wasn't wasted for once, which was good. He decided to play along with the singer.  
  
“Brandon!”  
  
“I wrote a song,” Brandon took a sip of his wine and went to get his notebook.  
  
“A whole song?” Ronnie peered at the page Brandon had shoved into his face. Brandon scoffed, but said nothing. “Why don't you sing it to me instead?”  
  
The younger man scowled and went to sit on the couch, “fine.” Ronnie followed and sat next to him.  
  
Brandon cleared his throat and began, “There’s a plane and I am crying- FUCK!”  
  
The drummer laughed, “what?”  
  
“Just an early version. Anyway- there’s a plane and I am flying…. There’s a mountain waiting for me….” Brandon took a long, shaky breath, “oh, these years have been so trying…. I don't know if i can use them.”  
  
Ronnie tried not to dwell on the grim subject matter.  
  
“Am I strong enough to be the one? Will I live to have some children?” Jesus.  
  
“Why don't we go to bed?” Ronnie suggested. Brandon sighed and slumped over onto the drummer’s shoulder. Ronnie was immediately reminded of when a similar thing happened in 2003.  
  
“I don't wanna,” he mumbled into the drummer’s arm. Ronnie sighed and put his arm around the man, making Brandon fall onto his chest with a grunt.  
  
“Please, Brando. Let’s go.” Brandon whined again so Ronnie decided desperate times called for desperate measures. Already having one arm around Brandon, he hooked the other one under the singer’s legs. Brandon gave a surprised shout in protest but still reached around Ronnie’s neck.  
  
Ronnie placed a kiss on Brandon’s forehead, “let’s go, Brandon.”  
  
  
  
“It actually physically hurts to do this,” Brandon said as he stretched his fingers across the fretboard of Ronnie’s black guitar. They were working on a new song that the band needed two guitars on so Brandon had to learn it, which wasn't going well.  
  
Ronnie wished he could just be the one to play the other guitar, but he was the only one who could play drums. Well, Mark could a little bit but that was out of the question.  
  
“It’ll stop hurting eventually,” Ronnie was holding his old guitar, having decided that Brandon would be more comfortable with a guitar that wasn't about to fall apart.  
  
“But I need to do this fast and I suck at strumming.” That was true, Brandon couldn't strum a pattern more complicated than down, up-down-up, which was generally only used by beginners. Not that being a beginner was bad, but The Killers weren't seen as beginners. They had already been around the block once.  
  
“Maybe we just don't play this live and Dave can play both tracks in the studio,” Brandon suggested.  
  
“It’s a single, Brandon.”  
  
“Not all singles have to be played!”  
  
“Here,” Ronnie lead Brandon’s hand back to fretboard and helped him place his fingers on the right strings, “let’s try again.” So they tried again. And the next day, and the next week.  
  
Brandon just couldn't play the guitar.  
  
One morning while they were laying in bed, Brandon made a suggestion. “Maybe bass would be better for me,” he said, lighting a second cigarette. “Mark knows the guitar part already.”  
  
“The bass only has four strings,” Ronnie said, tilting his head away from Brandon’s smoke.  
  
“That’s easier than six, right?”  
  
Ronnie chuckled, “yes, Brandon. To most people it is.”  
  
“Great!” Brandon sat up and took a long draw of the cigarette. “I’ll talk to Mark about coming over and teaching me when we see him today.”  
  
“I know bass,” Ronnie said, “I can teach you.”  
  
“Oh, I wouldn't want to take up anymore of your time, though.” Brandon looked at Ronnie, who was now laying on his side facing the singer.  
  
“We live together. You won't take up my time.”  
  
Brandon made a face, “I think Mark might be a better choice.” Oh.  
  
Ronnie looked away from Brandon and stared at the wall, hurt. Did he really not think he was capable of teaching him an instrument? Sure, Ronnie may not have been successful with the guitar, but he wouldn't go that far.  
  
Brandon realized what he said, “not that you aren't good!” He defended, “it’s just that Mark already knows the part- I don't wanna make you learn something for no reason.”  
  
“I mean, I saw Mark do it. It can't be that hard-”  
  
“Ronnie,” Brandon looked at the drummer with a soft smile. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“But-” Brandon awkwardly scooted in closer and gave Ronnie a quick kiss on the lips, silencing him. Ronnie grimaced once the kiss was over due to Brandon’s smokey mouth. Brandon seemed to notice and took one last drag before stamping it out in the ashtray on his nightstand.  
  
Brandon stared at the door for a moment before looking at his boyfriend. “Everything will be alright.” Ronnie hoped so.  
  
  
Later that day at the studio Brandon asked Mark to come over. “Ronnie’s making stuffed rigatoni tonight—his family’s recipe.” Mark agreed and Ronnie was only a little bit sad about it. He liked Mark and he knew that Mark wasn't going steal his boyfriend from him but he couldn't help the jealous feeling in his stomach.  
  
Mark arrived at five o’clock on the dot, scarily on time. He brought two bass guitars with him and got straight to business after greeting Ronnie. Their apartment was small and Ronnie didn't have anything to do before he needed to make dinner so he settled for playing a game of solitaire, sitting at Brandon’s usual spot in front of the coffee table.  
  
The drummer didn't understand why he was so upset by Mark’s presence. His mind flickered from jealousy to guilt every time he looked to the pair on the couch. He knew that he shouldn't feel this was but he couldn't help it. He liked Mark. Mark was too good for him.  
  
Brandon slowly got the hang of the few chords he needed to know so they continued onto the strumming pattern. Brandon had expressed that this was one of his problem areas considering he had trouble singing and playing a complex pattern at the same time when “playing” the guitar, but Mark assured him that it would be easier than the guitar. Ronnie decided to make dinner.  
  
After sautéing the ground beef and vegetables for a while Ronnie went to boil his rigatoni shells. At one point though, Ronnie stopped paying attention. He was caught off guard by Brandon’s nervous laugh in the living room, having not heard one so genuine from him in longer than he could remember. He then looked to Mark’s small smile and grimaced. The drummer turned back to the oven and took the pot’s handle in his hand to turn it closer to him. What he didn't realize though, was that said handle was incredibly hot. Ronnie yelped and jumped back, cursing as he did so. This gained his boyfriend’s attention.  
  
“Shit!” Brandon struggled to get the bass’ strap off of him and jumped to the kitchen to assess the situation. Luckily the water had not spilled, so Brandon flicked the burner off and went to Ronnie’s side. “Are you okay?” Brandon took the drummer’s throbbing hand into his own to get a closer look.  
  
“It’s just a little burn.” Ronnie replied, wincing. “Hurts like a bitch, though.” By this time Mark had made his way to the kitchen.  
  
“We can finish another day if we need to,” the bassist’s voice was soft and quiet, like it always was.  
  
“No, no,” Brandon said, looking up to the taller man. “Just give us a minute.” Ronnie had not purposely burned his hand, but when Mark suggested he leave the drummer perked up a little. Brandon quickly crushed his dreams, though.  
  
Mark shrugged and went back to the couch, “let me know if you need me.”  
  
Brandon looked back to the welt that was quickly forming on Ronnie’s hand. “I think I have some gauze in the medicine cabinet. Wait here.”  
  
In the meantime, Ronnie repositioned the pot (with a potholder) and turned the burner back on. When Brandon returned he led the drummer to the sink to wash the burn (which hurt terribly) before wrapping Ronnie’s hand with the gauze.  
  
“I didn't know you were a doctor,” Ronnie said as Brandon worked.  
  
“I did a lot of stupid stuff as a kid,” his boyfriend replied.  
  
“You still do.” Brandon smirked.  
  
“Your life is in my hands and you insult me?”  
  
“Oh, Doctor Flowers,” Ronnie gave Brandon a slow kiss. “Do you treat all of your patients this way?”  
  
“Ronnie, please,” Brandon said in between kisses. “Mark is literally ten feet away from us.” Ronnie ignored him and moved to Brandon’s neck. “Ronnie!” Brandon giggled, “the rigatoni, Ron!”  
  
Ronnie sighed and stepped away, “I guess you're right. You better get back to Mark.”  
  
Brandon smiled and gave Ronnie a tight hug, “I love you.”  
  
The drummer sighed deeply, “love you too, stupid.”

  
  
  
**Chapter III: _Don’t You Worry, It’ll All Work Out_**

  
  
  
Ronnie felt as if Brandon was growing distant. He had felt this way since after their anniversary and the feeling only strengthened after the night Mark had come to teach Brandon how to play bass. Ronnie wasn't holding it against the bassist, but there wasn't a doubt in his mind that the event had something to do with his and Brandon’s deteriorating relationship. The drummer didn't understand what he had done wrong—or if he had done anything at all! It was as if the old Brandon he knew had gone away with 2005 and had taken his sweet personality and summer smile with him.  
  
In the lowlight of their bedroom, Ronnie watched Brandon’s delicate features as the younger man slept. It was still early in the morning—Brandon wouldn't be awake any time soon. This was mostly because the singer had developed a problem falling asleep. Ronnie felt incredibly bad for the man; he felt Brandon toss and turn almost every night—the only times he didn’t was when he seeked refuge in his favorite beverage. Brandon’s drinking problem had also become much worse. He drank more often and was no longer the fun drunk he had been before. Now Brandon was put into a depressed and sour mood when he drank—it was like he had become an entirely new man.  
  
The worst part was that Ronnie could have stopped it. Brandon had asked for the drummer’s help all those years ago and Ronnie failed him. It felt like that was all he did lately.  
  
Ronnie still loved Brandon. He loved that boy more than he could ever begin to explain—but something was missing. The spark that they had kindled together had burned out. Even as they were in that moment was so drastically different than how they had been before. Even a whole year before they were in a relationship they would hold each other as they slept. And now, a whole year after being in a relationship, Ronnie felt like Brandon had never been so distant—physically and emotionally. The singer was on the far left side of the bed, sleeping peacefully for what seemed to be the first time in months.  
  
Ronnie decided that he would talk to him about it before the day was over.  
  
  
That evening after dinner Ronnie decided that the time was upon them.  
  
After washing their plates in the sink, Ronnie turned back to see Brandon staring blankly at the TV. The drummer felt as nervous as the first time that he asked Brandon out—but this time was different. This was a bad kind of nervous that he could not shake no matter how hard he tried.  
  
“Brandon?” Ronnie asked from where he stood next to the island that separated the living room and kitchen. Brandon only hummed at the man, not looking away from the screen in front of him. Ronnie knew that the singer wasn't invested in what he was watching, and that made it so much worse. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Something important.” Brandon finally looked up from the TV and gazed into Ronnie’s eyes.  
  
“What? Is it about the dining table thing? Because I can always get one-”  
  
“Brandon… no,” Ronnie sat down next to the boy. “It’s about… us.” A look of fear flashed in Brandon’s hazel eyes—Ronnie noticed that they appeared darker than the used to. “You know I love you, right?” Ronnie asked, grabbing Brandon’s hand. The singer didn't like where this was going.  
  
“Yes…” Brandon replied warily. Color began to fade from the singer’s face as Ronnie kept him in suspense, so the drummer decided to just let it out.  
  
“I think we should take a break.” Brandon broke eye contact with the drummer and stared at the floor almost lifelessly. Ronnie decided to continue, “it’s not that I don't love you—I do! But… I think it would be best if we took a breather. I think you should figure yourself out before we continue to pursue this relationship.” At this, Brandon pulled his hand away from Ronnie’s grasp and glared at him accusingly.  
  
“Are you saying… this is my fault?” Ronnie began to panic for a moment, but calmed.  
  
“No! I’m just saying that you should figure yourself out!” Ronnie pleaded, “you’ve been so distant, Brandon-”  
  
Brandon stood from his place on the couch and took a step back, tears welling in his eyes. “You think I don't have myself figured out?” He sounded angry, but his voice still wavered.  
  
Ronnie’s voice raised, “look at yourself, Brandon! You drink yourself to sleep every goddamn night! To be honest—I don’t!” The tears in Brandon’s eyes finally spilled over.  
  
“Who’s fault is that?” He yelled, letting his emotion get the best of him. Ronnie was confused—how was that his fault?  
  
“Your’s!” Ronnie said, standing as well. At this moment it seemed like he towered above the younger man. “You were the only person that caused this. You were fine before you just- you just gave up!”  
  
A whimper escaped Brandon’s lips, “how can you s-say that?” Brandon’s ignorance to his problem began to make Ronnie genuinely pissed.  
  
“You’re in denial!” Ronnie shouted, making Brandon shrink back more, “don’t you remember when you were happy before? How can you say that what you did wasn’t your own fault?”  
  
In between weeps, Brandon somehow managed to find his voice again, “you were supposed to help me!” He screeched. Ronnie had enough.  
  
“I can't help someone who’s already so far fucking gone!” Brandon’s breath hitched. He stared at Ronnie in disbelief before storming back to the bedroom, body wracked with terrible sobs. Ronnie fell back on the couch. Even after the bedroom door had slammed he could hear Brandon’s loud weeping.  
  
It made him regret everything he had just said.  
  
He fucked up—there was no way he could salvage this.  
  
Brandon eventually quietened and when Ronnie heard the door open again he immediately stood and began to beg for forgiveness. Brandon would not have it. As he turned the corner, Ronnie noticed a look of unbridled hate on the singer’s face.  
  
“Brandon—baby, please—I’m sorry-” Ronnie was cut short as all air exited his lungs. He clutched the thing that had hit him in the stomach—a duffle bag.  
  
“Get. Out.” Ronnie couldn't believe that this was happening. He stood motionless in the living room, unsure what to do. Brandon then made it painfully obvious.  
  
“Get out of my house, Ronnie. Leave. Now.” Ronnie still stood with his mouth gaping. Slowly, he walked backwards towards the door. In the middle of a step, he stopped.  
  
“Brandon, please, let me explain-”  
  
“You already did,” the singer angrily slipped the ring Ronnie had gotten him off his finger and flung it toward the drummer. If he was aiming at Ronnie he failed—the ring hit the wall next to the door and bounced onto Brandon’s carpeted floor. “Take your fucking ring and get out of my goddamned house!” Ronnie tried to plead with Brandon again but got nowhere. Brandon marched towards the drummer and firmly planted an open palm to Ronnie’s chest. Mustering up all of the strength that he could, Brandon pushed Ronnie back further to the door. Once the drummer’s back came into contact with the wall, Brandon used his other hand to throw the front door open. Brandon pointed to the exit.  
  
Ronnie reluctantly followed the younger man’s instruction. Before the drummer could turn to apologize to Brandon again, the door was slammed shut and locked behind him, leaving Ronnie alone in the cool desert night.  
  
The first place Ronnie thought to go was Dave’s house.  
  
  
  
After slamming his door shut, Brandon hastily locked it with shaking hands. He then stood with his back braced against the door until he found himself sliding down. Burrowing his head into his knees, Brandon sobbed loudly. He didn't care if his neighbors heard him—he didn't even care if Ronnie heard him. Brandon let his emotion out for the first time in months. He could've sat there for hours—but eventually his tears ran dry and he heard the hum of Ronnie’s truck from outside. After Brandon was sure that the drummer was gone, he stood.  
  
Brandon’s plan was to go to the kitchen to drink his pain away, but upon standing, the weight of what had just happened suddenly bore down onto the boy. His head spun and he stumbled into the bathroom before violently retching into the toilet. After his stomach was empty, Brandon found himself staying true to his original idea. After staring into the fridge for a moment, he picked a bottle of bourbon.  
  
Brandon decided he didn't want to sleep in his bed—it reminded too much of Ronnie. He slumped over to the couch and laid down, only propping his head up to drink from his precious bottle. As it neared midnight, the singer found himself sobbing again. Between shaky breaths, he sang whatever came to mind.  
  
“S-Shakin' like the Devil when she lets me go….Got a new place and how it's s-so much better….”  
  
  
  
Upon Ronnie’s arrival at Dave’s new humble abode, he lost all sanity he thought he might have had left. He thought he had shed his last tears in the car but when Dave had asked him why the hell he had showed up so disheveled he decided to let it all out again. By the end of Ronnie’s impromptu therapy session, Dave didn’t know what exactly to say, so he offered Ronnie a room and some leftover lasagna. As they ate, Dave mentioned his fear of the band splitting up too, and suggested that Ronnie should apologize in the morning.  
  
“He was the one who kicked me out, Dave.” Ronnie said bitterly as he ate his dinner (which honestly should have been a midnight snack but hey—who’s counting?).  
  
“Ronnie, you insulted him to his face,” Dave pointed at Ronnie with his fork. “I think this is on you.” Ronnie stayed silent for the rest of the dinner save for a few words to Dave. Eventually, he retired to the room Dave had given him and flopped down onto his bed. He felt something in his pocket that stabbed into his thigh. Ronnie groaned and pulled the object out of his pocket.  
  
A blue lighter.  
  
Brandon loved that thing. He loved it so much that he insisted on getting it refilled instead of buying new ones—he was sentimental like that. He had given it to Ronnie so that he could get it refilled when he went out later that day; that moment never came.  
  
Ronnie stared at the translucent blue object with nostalgic eyes, remembering the day that Brandon had got it. That was the day that Ronnie had originally asked him out—in fact, Brandon had received the lighter immediately before he had declined Ronnie’s offer, promising that he was interested in pursuing a relationship.  
  
Ronnie smiled at the tiny thing as memories of Europe spread over him.  
  
Ronnie grimaced. He was supposed to be angry.  
  
The drummer yanked the nightstand drawer open and carelessly tossed the lighter into it, not caring about it’s fate.  
  
He decided to go to sleep then, but found the empty spot next to him haunting his dreams.  
  
  
Ronnie did not have a good week. Day one of Ronnie’s “I Can't Tell If My Boyfriend Broke Up With Me Or Not” staycation at Dave’s house went about as well as you can imagine. Ronnie had a late start, unable to fall asleep the night before. He spent most of the day lounging around on the couch watching nature documentaries—or at least he tried to. At one point a rerun played that he remembered watching with Brandon, so he changed the channel to the one that aired America’s Funniest Home Videos. Good stuff. Eventually Dave made his way to the couch and watched with him. Ronnie appreciated the company for once.  
  
“See,” Dave said, motioning to the TV and passing the popcorn to the drummer. “These people are so stupid! Why did this guy think it was a good idea to do that with a trampoline and a swimming pool?”  
  
“Live life in the fast lane, Dave.” Ronnie took the popcorn and popped a few kernels into his mouth.  
  
“We should reenact this for our next music vid-” Dave was cut off by the phone on the kitchen counter ringing. He groaned, “I’ll get it.” Ronnie continued to watch the show as Dave went to get the phone. The clip they were showing now was of a cat falling into a swimming pool. Good stuff.  
  
The phone continued to ring, “well look who it is!” Ronnie turned his body so that he could see behind the couch. Dave stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the phone with a raised brow. He looked back to Ronnie, “it’s for you.”  
  
Ronnie grimaced, “I don’t wanna talk to him.”  
  
Ring. “You have to at some point. Think about the band!”  
  
Ring. “I will… just not right now.”  
  
Ring. “Playing hard to get, I see.”  
  
Ring. “He deserves it.”  
  
...Beep.  
  
“Hey, Dave…. If you’re there just ignore this okay? I’m hoping Ronnie is there. Ronnie… I want to talk to you about what happened. Please, call me or come by whenever. Bye.”  
  
The room was engulfed in silence once more. Dave crossed his arms, “does he?” Ronnie stared at the floor, unsure what to say.  
  
“Yeah. He does.”  
  
  
They didn't speak of the voicemail the next day. Ronnie decided Brandon wasn’t worth any of his time and he would not give the boy the satisfaction of calling him back. That afternoon, Brandon called again.  
  
“Hey again! It’s me, I thought I would call again because maybe you didn't get my last voice-”  
  
Ronnie groaned and muted the phone. Dave looked on worriedly, but decided to say nothing.  
  
Before Ronnie went to bed that night, Dave told him that another voicemail had come through while the drummer was in the shower.  
  
“I called him back after it was over,” Dave said, leaning against the hall wall.  
  
“Why would you do that?” Dave grimaced at the drummer’s tone.  
  
“He thought it was you at first. I told him to stop calling and then I hung up.” Now that confused Ronnie. The guitarist had been sympathetic towards Brandon, but that seemed harsh. “I didn't want to listen to whatever begging he had planned to give me. It would have broken my heart even more,” he elaborated. Ronnie decided that doing that was more in Dave’s character than it was his, then went to bed.  
  
Or he tried to. During the night he heard the faint ringing of a phone and rambling. He looked at the clock. 1:34 AM.  
  
Go to bed, Brandon.  
  
  
The next day, Ronnie was angry. He stewed in his bitterness all day before deciding to check out Dave’s guitar room that night. Dave had gone to get groceries, but Ronnie didn't think he would mind if the drummer played around for a bit.  
  
Dave had a good selection of acoustic and electric guitars (the drummer made the mental note that if things were ruined between him and Brandon, he didn't want either of his guitars back). Ronnie plopped himself down in the swivel chair occupying the room and picked an acoustic with a traditional paint job. He strummed aimlessly for a few minutes before finding himself fall into a familiar pattern.  
  
C…. E7…. Am…. F…. D7….  
  
It was like the singer was trying to reassure him, but Brandon was wrong. Not everything was alright.  
  
  
Day four, or, “I Still Can't Tell If I’ve Been Dumped”, brought a grey cloud that loomed over Ronnie’s head for most of the day. The drummer went back to watching nature documentaries (“I wonder if Brandon is watching them right now, too”) and eating ice cream on the couch (Dave had gotten it for him the night before).  
  
As the sun began the disappear in the sky, Dave asked, “do you want to go to a bar?”  
  
Ronnie didn't remove his gaze from the monkeys on the television screen, “he might be there.”  
  
The guitarist decided that the pronoun game was pointless and stupid, “I think we both know that Brandon prefers drowning his sorrows alone.”  
  
Ronnie felt a pang of guilt in his stomach, “I won't stop you from going, though. I think I'll just stay in tonight.”  
  
“You sure?” Ronnie looked at Dave, who had that look on his face. The one everyone thinks he’s incapable of—including Ronnie. At least, until that night in London.  
  
“You have fun. I'll see you tomorrow,” Ronnie flashed the guitarist a false smile, and fell asleep on the couch soon after the man had left.  
  
Brandon shivered in the cold English air, sticking close to Ronnie on the crowded sidewalk outside the theater. It was their one month anniversary, so Ronnie had taken him out to a movie. They were on tour, so they couldn't do much, but Brandon was happy with the simplicity of the date. The drummer couldn't really remember the details of the movie—he had been paying too much attention to Brandon for him to be able to, but he didn't mind. They had been sitting in the back of the dark theater to ensure that no one could see them holding hands and stealing little kisses when the other wasn't paying attention.  
  
They maneuvered away from the crowd and began the walk back to the bus. It wasn't far enough for them to call a cab, but it was cold enough for Brandon to wish that they had. Ronnie wrapped his arm around Brandon’s shoulders, pulling him close and shielding him from the harsh European wind.  
  
“I had a good time,” Brandon said, leaning into Ronnie’s warmth.  
  
“I’m glad,” the drummer replied. “I know we couldn't go all out, but-”  
  
“I don't mind it,” the singer assured. “I’m just happy we could spend some time together without worrying about Dave or Mark.”  
  
Ronnie laughed, “yeah. We’ll be in a hotel next week. Do you think we could-”  
  
“Proboscis monkeys are known to make various vocalizations. When communicating the status of group, males will emit honks.”  
  
Ronnie looked at the younger man, confused. “What?”  
  
“They have a special honk emitted towards infants, which is also used for reassurance. Males will also produce alarm calls to signal danger-”  
  
Ronnie jerked awake. Oh. The TV’s light illuminated every surface in the dark living room. The drummer sighed and felt around for the remote, turning the TV off once he had found it. He sat in the quiet of the night before looking at the time on the cable box: twelve fifty-one A.M.. Ronnie exhaled sadly and began his journey through the darkness to his room. He missed Brandon.  
  
  
The drummer decided not to tell Dave about the dream the next day. Nothing noteworthy happened and it felt like minutes took hours. Ronnie found himself waiting for Brandon to call again. The singer had been pretty persistent with his voicemails, usually calling around midnight. Ronnie never listened to them, always muting the phone whenever he heard Brandon’s voice pour through the speakers. Sometimes he didn't hear them or they played when he was asleep but Ronnie was thankful. He didn't want to think about Brandon. So why was it so hard to get him off of his mind?  
  
Ronnie stayed up until one that night, waiting for a call. Eventually he got tired and went to sleep, but the next morning he noticed the light on the answering machine blinking. He decided not to listen.  
  
Ronnie swore to himself that he would answer if he heard the phone ring that day. It didn't, so the drummer decided to call instead.  
  
Dave watched eagerly as Ronnie typed the number into the phone.  
  
Ring…. Ring…. R-  
  
Ronnie slammed the phone back onto the receiver.  
  
“You’ve gotta give him time to get his hungover ass to his phone!” Dave exclaimed.  
  
“He’s probably busy,” Ronnie explained, “he’s a busy guy.”  
  
“He’s probably passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey.” Ronnie stayed silent, knowing that Dave was right.  
  
Ronnie barely slept that night, becoming increasingly worried as the hours ticked by and he didn't hear the familiar ring of the phone.  
  
The drummer was sent out to run errands the next day. Ronnie was thankful for it because it got Brandon off his mind for a few hours. When he returned to Dave’s house he noticed the answering machine’s light blinking.  
  
“I’ve kept all of them,” Dave said to Ronnie as he was brushing his teeth that night. “You should probably listen to them. It’s been a week, Ronnie.”  
  
Ronnie sighed, running a hand through his hair, “okay. I will. I promise.”  
  
Dave glanced at him in the mirror, but said nothing. They both knew Ronnie’s track record with promises.  
  
“I will!”  
  
Dave smirked, “you better.”  
  
After the guitarist had gone to bed, Ronnie found himself sitting at the kitchen bar, his only company being the flashing light on the answering machine.  
  
“You have six saved messages. To listen to your messages, press one. To-”  
  
Ronnie complied.  
  
“First saved message: sent Sunday at 3:47 PM.”  
  
“Hey again! It’s me, I thought I would call again because maybe you didn't get my last voicemail—it was at midnight, after all. Anyway, call me back or something. I still want to talk.”  
  
Ah, yes. Ronnie remembered this one—at least, he remembered the beginning. The drummer immediately felt guilty for completely ignoring the boy.  
  
He continued to the next one.  
  
“Second saved message: sent Sunday at 11:13 PM.”  
  
“Listen, I understand you don't want anything to do with me—I wouldn't if I were in your position, but please, we need to talk about this. You can't ignore me forever, Ronnie.”  
  
That first line hit Ronnie hard. He didn't know how to respond to that.  
  
“Third saved message: sent Monday at 12:34 AM.”  
  
“It’s me again. I know you’re probably not listening… but I wanted to let you know that you can still come over. If you wanna talk we can talk… If you just wanna get your stuff… tell me and I’ll get it together for you. I'll stay out of your way. I think we can still save this—please call me.”  
  
Brandon sounded terrible. His voice was raw and scratchy and Ronnie didn't want to think about how it got that way. Ronnie decided that he would go see Brandon in the morning.  
  
“Fourth saved message: sent Tuesday at 10:45 PM.”  
  
“...I miss you, baby. I need you to come back—you were right. I am broken. I can't do this alone. P-Please help me get better, Ron. I love you.”  
  
Brandon was sobbing. It wasn't a hard sight to imagine for Ronnie, considering he had already seen it so many times before. That didn't make it any easier, though. The drummer couldn't help but think about how Brandon was alone with his sadness all week. He had Dave. Who did Brandon have? No one. The singer tried to reach out and he was shut down each time by Ronnie.  
  
Ronnie decided to take a break to calm his tears before listening to the next message.  
  
“Fifth saved message: sent Wednesday at 2:08 AM.”  
  
“-uck you, Ronnie. Fuck you. I hope you got what you wanted, ‘cause I sure didn't. You’ve ruined this band and you’ve ruined my life. I wish I had never met you—this would have never happened then. I would be fine then. You know what? I know you got what you wanted—you’ve changed my mind—about you, about us, about everything. I hope you're happy, Ronnie Vannucci. I hope your wish came true. Goodbye.”  
  
Ronnie was horrified. He could tell Brandon was drunk, so he knew that the singer didn't really mean what he was saying, but the idea of Brandon being that angry at him chilled Ronnie to the bone.  
  
He started crying again.  
  
“Sixth saved message: sent today at 10:41 PM.”  
  
“Hah…. I gotta tell ya… I'll make it better… but I know there’s somethin’ I needed to say… when I was out, though… maybe you were better alone… I know I’ll make it home.”  
  
What?  
  
How did Brandon remember that?  
  
Ronnie’s head swam in confusion. He had sung that song to Brandon the night that Dave asked him to check in on the singer. Brandon had been drunk when he sang it. Brandon never remembered anything when he was drunk. Ronnie was pretty sure the younger man had been asleep for half the song! How was it possible?  
  
Ronnie stopped caring about how he did it. What was important was that he did it. The drummer wiped away his remaining tears and started for his bedroom. He would see Brandon in the morning, and no one would stop him.  
  
  
Dave and Ronnie sat at the guitarist’s breakfast table, enjoying their cereal.  
  
“-and I’m planning on getting him flowers,” Ronnie said, finishing going over his plan to get Brandon back. Dave nodded.  
  
“What were you gonna get?” Ronnie took a bite of his Raisin Bran, thinking,  
  
“I dunno. Roses?”  
  
Dave nodded once more, “he likes the pink ones.”  
  
Ronnie raised a brow, “how do you know?”  
  
Dave shrugged, “he told me once when he was drunk. He said he’d fuck anyone who gave him a bouquet of pink roses.”  
  
“... Oh my god.” Dave smirked at him. “Okay, first you’re disgusted with our acts and now you’re trying to get me laid?”  
  
So Ronnie set out on getting his boyfriend back. He refilled the lighter, he bought the biggest bouquet of pink roses Vegas could offer, and went to a local appliance store.  
  
When the drummer pulled into the parking lot of Brandon’s apartment complex he saw that Brandon’s car was in it’s usual spot, which was a good thing. The older man suddenly became very nervous, however, and sat in his car for five minutes before making his way up the steps to Brandon’s door.  
  
Lighter in pocket, flowers in hand, and the bagged waffle iron safely hanging from Ronnie’s arm, the drummer’s hand wavered over the wood of the door.  
  
He knocked, then waited.  
  
Just as he was about to knock again, he heard the lock sliding from the other side of the door.  
  
It was worse than he anticipated.  
  
Brandon looked horrible. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair stuck up in every direction, his skin was pale, and the bags under his eyes had deepened. He was wearing his ring though! That was a good sign!  
  
Brandon stared at Ronnie in surprise, looking him up and down. His eyes then darted back into the apartment, then back to Ronnie, as if he were making sure it wasn't a dream. Ronnie held the flowers out for Brandon to take and offered him a smile that Brandon wouldn't return. With a shaking hand he grabbed the bouquet and stepped backwards into the apartment, opening the door wider for Ronnie to go in.  
  
The apartment didn't look that bad, but it was in a state of mild disrepair. Bottles cluttered the side tables and the trash can was overflowing, but everything else was mostly okay.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Brandon said softly as he shut the door. “I had no right to do that.” Ronnie took a deep breath.  
  
“Well I shouldn't have said those things about you so… I kinda deserved it.” Brandon looked at him with sad eyes.  
  
“No one deserves to be kicked out of their own home.”  
  
“Well, your name is on the lease, so, technically-”  
  
“Ronnie!” Brandon whined, “I’m trying to apologize to you!” The singer stayed by the door while Ronnie wandered around the living room, looking at anything he could so he didn't have to face Brandon. “Do you forgive me?”  
  
Ronnie stopped his pacing and finally met Brandon’s gaze, “do you forgive me?” The younger man nodded, teary-eyed.  
  
Ronnie went to hug the man, dropping the waffle iron off on the coffee table as he went. They held onto each other for a moment, Brandon gripping onto his flowers as he cried into Ronnie’s shoulder.  
  
Once Brandon had calmed down, he asked, “what’s in the bag?”  
  
Ronnie chuckled and released the boy, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead, “I bought you a waffle iron.”  
  
Brandon gasped, “really?”  
  
“Yes, really.” Ronnie lead the singer to the couch and showed Brandon his gift. After inspecting the box, Brandon spoke.  
  
“You got me so many nice things…. All I have is a dirty apartment.”  
  
Ronnie chuckled, “well, I have a dirty you, and that’s all I need.”  
  
Brandon suddenly realized his state, “oh. Shit. You’re right.”  
  
“Do you want my help fixing that?”  
  
Brandon grinned, “yes please.”  
  
Ronnie slid off of the couch and held out his hand to Brandon. The singer smiled at Ronnie before the older man lead the both of them to the bathroom.  
  
Once they got through the door, Brandon took his sweatshirt and t-shirt off in one movement while Ronnie moved to turn the shower on. Ronnie took his own shirt off before turning back around to Brandon, who was shimmying his sweatpants off his hips. Ronnie reached for his belt buckle as his boyfriend stripped off his last layer, made his way to the shower, and closed the curtain as he stepped in. Ronnie turned his head and smiled while he watched Brandon's silhouette tilt its head back under the water and run its hands over its face.  
  
Ronnie climbed into the shower a few moments later. Brandon couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as Ronnie wrapped his arms around Brandon's middle and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. Brandon turned around and wrapped his arms around Ronnie's neck. The singer was still smiling as he kissed Ronnie's lips. They were completely naked and kissing each other, but oddly enough there was nothing sexual about it. It was more about making up for lost time, trying to ingrain the feeling of the other person's body and lips against their own into their memory forever.  
  
Ronnie pulled away from the kiss to grab the half-empty bottle of shampoo on the rack. Brandon turned around so that the back of his head was facing Ronnie. The drummer squirted the soap into his hand and began to gently work it into his boyfriend's hair. Brandon sighed and let out a tiny giggle.  
  
"That feels nice," Brandon said just above a whisper. Ronnie could hear the smile in his voice and his heart fluttered, a wave of endearment crashing over him. Ronnie leaned forward and kissed Brandon's shoulder. The smell of the shampoo began to fill the humid air of the shower, but Ronnie was able to recognize a smell that was distinctly Brandon. He felt a sort of comfort he hadn't felt all week. The feeling of home.  
  
"Turn around," Ronnie said softly as Brandon spun his body. Brandon's eyes fluttered shut and Ronnie guided his head under the water, washing away the soapy foam that formed in his hair. Brandon's mouth formed a gentle, toothy smile and leaned against the hot water. Ronnie could look at that quirky smile for hours.  
  
When Ronnie rinsed the shampoo out completely, he gently pulled Brandon closer to him by the hips and the singer opened his eyes. Their lips touched again, a small touch that lasted several moments. Brandon pulled away but kept himself inches away.  
  
"Your turn," Brandon grabbed the shampoo and squirted some in his hand. He decided to face Ronnie instead of turn him around, enjoying the way the drummer's eyes closed with a sigh as Brandon worked his hands through his hair.  
  
Brandon brought his lips to Ronnie's again while he massaged the soap into his boyfriend's hair. Ronnie sighed into Brandon's touch and deepened the kiss by sliding his tongue along the singer's bottom lip.  
Brandon pulled away from the kiss and smiled wide.  
  
"What?" Ronnie asked as a grin spread across his face.  
  
"I love you." Brandon spoke so softly, Ronnie could barely hear him over the sound of the water. The older man gently squeezed his boyfriend's hips and his grin turned into a huge smile. Brandon's heart melted, he missed seeing the way Ronnie's eyes crinkled whenever he flashed his contagious smile.  
  
"I love you, too, baby." Ronnie leaned in and their lips connected for another long, but gentle kiss. Brandon pulled away once more and softly placed his hands on Ronnie's shoulders, motioning him towards the falling water.  
  
Brandon took his hands off of Ronnie's body and picked up the conditioner from the rack. Ronnie brought his own hands to his head, where he slowly worked his fingers through the hair. Brandon squirted a small amount of conditioner into his hand and began massaging it through his hair. A smirk was stuck on the singer's face as he watched the shampoo trickle down his boyfriend's body in a quick, foamy stream. When the soap was out of his hair, Ronnie felt it was safe to open his eyes.  
  
"So," he asked as he reached for the conditioner, "what do you wanna do tonight?”  
  
"Well," Brandon reached for the body wash, "I'm pretty hungry, but there's no food in the house and I don't want to go out."  
  
"I'll order us a pizza once I rinse this out," Ronnie was running the conditioner through his hair, "does that sound good?"  
  
"Mmm," Brandon hummed, "sounds amazing." Ronnie leaned his head back slightly against the falling water and admired the way Brandon's hands were lathering the body wash onto his skin.  
  
Once Ronnie felt the conditioner was completely washed out, he got out of the way of the water so that Brandon could rinse himself. Brandon started working at his hair when Ronnie leaned forward and placed one more soft kiss to his lips.  
  
"I'll be in the kitchen," the drummer said against his lips before stepping out of the shower.  
  
Ronnie opened the small closet door in the bathroom and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist. As he walked out the door and closed it, he heard Brandon begin to sing. Ronnie smiled to himself and slipped into the bedroom, where he quickly changed into a white t-shirt and comfortable black sweatpants.  
  
Maybe thirty minutes later the couple could be found on their couch eating lunch. Brandon’s roses had been placed in the only vase in the house, which had previously held some “decorative” sticks. After they finished eating Brandon leaned against Ronnie, who began to play with his still damp hair.  
  
“How’d you remember my song?” Brandon looked up at Ronnie, confused.  
  
“It was a good song,” he said, not seeing the big deal.  
  
“Brandon, you were wasted. I can't understand how you possibly could have remembered the words.” Brandon giggled.  
  
“It was good! I liked it!”  
  
Ronnie sighed, “I’m going to scream.”  
  
“Oh,” Brandon said seriously, “don't do that. My neighbors think I'm crazy already.”  
  
“What did you do,” Ronnie asked.  
  
“It was a couple of years ago-”  
  
“Brandon,” Ronnie stopped petting his partner’s hair. “Tell me what you did.”  
  
“Hmm… it was pretty terrible.” Ronnie swore that Brandon was just teasing him at that point.  
  
“Brandon I swear to God above-” Brandon cut him off with a yawn.  
  
“I’m actually kinda tired now. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night—I think I’ll turn in a bit early.” Brandon tried to slide off of Ronnie, but the drummer forced the younger man back down.  
  
“Brandon,” Ronnie said, “I’m going to spit on you if you don't tell me.”  
  
The singer sat silently for a moment. “Not gonna lie,” he said. “That kinda aroused me.” Ronnie laughed the hardest he had in a week.  
  
“...The woman nextdoor… she’s an ancient thing….” Ronnie scoffed, but let Brandon continue. “She has this daughter who visits her sometimes. I didn't know it was her daughter at the time—if I had known I wouldn't have done it. One day this daughter walked up the stairs outside and… we talked for a little bit. We eventually… had relations…” Ronnie burst out laughing.  
  
“What! You fucked this old lady’s daughter?” Brandon winced.  
  
“Okay, it sounds bad when you say it like that. It was my first time since moving away from Utah—I wasn't in a relationship and neither was she.”  
  
“Okay, so what does this have to do with the lady thinking you’re crazy?”  
  
“Apparently…” Brandon chose his words very carefully. “The daughter told her mother about my… uhmm…”  
  
“Oh, God.”  
  
“My Morrissey pillowcase.”  
  
“What happened next?”  
  
Brandon grimaced, “I saw her a week later—the old lady, not the daughter—and she called me a ‘bisexual menace’.”  
  
“Holy fuck!” Ronnie yelled, “that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard!”  
  
“Yeah, can we go to bed now?” Brandon asked, embarrassed.  
  
“Will your Morrissey pillowcase be present?”  
  
“God, no, Ronnie.” The drummer released the younger man and Brandon slid off of the couch, offering a hand to Ronnie. The singer then led Ronnie (who was still snickering) to their bedroom.  
  
As soon as Ronnie got into the bed, he outstretched his arm in invitation. Brandon smiled warmly as he made his way in the spot next to Ronnie. It felt like ages since Ronnie held Brandon like this—Brandon's head on Ronnie's chest, his arm around Brandon, Brandon's body pushed right against his side. Brandon splayed his hand out onto Ronnie's chest and sighed contently as he nuzzled closer to his boyfriend.  
  
Ronnie brought his lips down to kiss the top of Brandon's head and broke their silence with a whisper, "I missed this so much." Ronnie felt Brandon smile against his chest as the singer rubbed his other pec.  
  
"Mmm," Brandon hummed, "me too."  
  
"Good night, baby."  
  
"Good night," Brandon placed a small kiss to Ronnie's chest, "I love you."  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
Usually, the couple is asleep soon after they say goodnight to each other. But tonight, it was difficult for both of them.  
  
Neither of them knew that the other wasn't asleep of course. That is until about a boring half an hour later when Ronnie accidentally nudged Brandon's foot with his own as he shifted in his sheets uncomfortably. Ronnie, once again, felt the singer smile against his chest before he nudged his foot back.  
  
After a few minutes and a childish game of footsie, Brandon piped up, "You can't sleep either?"  
  
"Nah," Ronnie replied, "I think I'm just happy about being back is all." Brandon hummed in agreement against him and continued to rub Ronnie's chest through his shirt.  
  
"Well," Brandon scooted his body upward and tilted his head so that his breath was against Ronnie's neck, "what should we do?" Brandon began leaving soft kisses on the drummer's neck as he reached his hand up to play with Ronnie's hair.  
  
"It seems like you already have something in mind," Ronnie chuckled.  
  
Brandon smiled against Ronnie's skin and moved his kisses downward to the drummer's collarbone.  
  
"Wait," Ronnie suddenly interrupted, "we can't."  
  
Brandon pulled away and felt his heart sink, "Why?"  
  
"It just doesn't feel right," Ronnie sighed, "not without the Morrissey pillowcase."  
  
Brandon smacked Ronnie's chest playfully, "Shut up!"  
  
"Make me."  
  
Brandon smiled in the dim lighting of their bedroom and placed a gentle kiss to Ronnie's lips.  
  
Brandon soon found himself under Ronnie, hands clutching whatever skin he could get ahold of as the drummer thrusted into him. Their foreheads were pressed together, their heavy breathing rhythmically matching each other's with every thrust.  
  
There were no loud moans or scratched backs. Instead there were gasps and gentle kisses, breathy "Oh God"s mixed with quick pants of each other's names. Brandon kept connecting their lips in long, passionate kisses. When Brandon pulled away to catch his breath, Ronnie always lingered on his lips for a moment.  
  
It felt like the closest they had ever been. It wasn't about making a show for each other this time. It was about connecting with each other again now that they were reminded what life was like without the other.  
  
The frequency of their breaths increased and Brandon's grip on Ronnie's back tightened. It wasn't long before they both finished, wrapped in each other's bodies and sharing each other's breath as they came down from their high.  
  
When they cleaned up and laid back in their bed, they were quiet for a while. The sounds of the city roared in the distance as they held each other. The both of them believed the sounds of their heartbeats against each other were more interesting.  
  
Ronnie broke the silence after he kissed Brandon's head once more, "Good night, baby."  
  
"Good night, I love you."  
  
Ronnie smiled, but Brandon would never see it, "I love you, too."  
  
The next morning, Ronnie woke up first.  
  
He looked down at the sleeping boy on his chest and felt his heart swell. The light of the morning sun painted the singer in lines of warm, orange-yellow light as the sun tried to break through the window through the shades. Ronnie pressed a kiss to Brandon's temple and he stirred in his sleep.  
  
Brandon sighed and rubbed his eyes before blinking them open slowly. Ronnie shifted his body downward so that he was looking his sleepy boyfriend in the eyes.  
  
"G'mornin'," Brandon's voice was laced with sleep but he was still smiling.  
  
"Morning, baby," Ronnie whispered before caressing the side of his boyfriend's face.  
  
Brandon's eyes slid shut again, "G'mornin'."  
  
"You already said that," Ronnie chuckled softly.  
  
"Don't care," Brandon smirked.  
  
Ronnie continued caressing Brandon's face as the singer drifted in and out of sleepiness.  
  
The drummer ran his thumb over the small beauty mark on Brandon's nose and the younger boy opened one eye, "Can I help you?"  
  
Ronnie laughed, "The mark on your nose is cute."  
  
Brandon scrunched his nose, "Are you just noticing it now?"  
  
"I guess so," Ronnie smiled.  
  
"Well," Brandon yawned, "pay more attention to me."  
  
Ronnie laughed and placed a kiss to Brandon's nose before ruffling his hair, "Give me a reason to and maybe I will."  
  
Brandon opened his eyes and smiled wide before pushing Ronnie away playfully.  
  
Ronnie was home again, and Brandon's home had come back to him.

  
  
  
**Chapter IV: _Let Me Show You How Much I Care_**

  
  
  
It was nine o’clock on a Monday and Brandon was still in bed. He and Ronnie would be going to the Palms Casino in a few hours and he knew that he should probably get up but he decided against it. He was only a little nervous about the upcoming session with the band. Okay, he was more than a little nervous but that was mostly Ronnie’s fault. Not in a bad way, though. Brandon was debuting a couple songs that were significant to his boyfriend. He was fooling himself—it was a love song.  
  
Said boyfriend was currently in the shower—Brandon could hear him whistling through the thin walls of his apartment. Ronnie had asked Brandon to join him but the singer declined. He wanted to stay in bed and contemplate his own songwriting ability. While he was at it he decided to also worry about his own bass-playing skills too. He wasn't good. He knew he wasn't good but he could at least go through the song without messing up.  
  
Eventually Brandon heard the water shut off and the whistling stop. This reminded him of the songs he was showing off and he sighed, burying his head into his pillow further. The singer heard the bedroom door creak open after a moment so he glanced back to see his boyfriend: hair damp and shirtless.  
  
“You aren't up yet?” The drummer smirked and went to the dresser on the other side of the room. In the almost three years (Brandon couldn't believe that it had been so long) that Ronnie had been living in the singer’s apartment their clothes had gotten mixed up. After the Hot Fuss Tour they had both stopped caring enough to separate everything. Brandon realized that they needed more room than the small apartment could offer.  
  
“I’m up…” Brandon said as he flipped onto his back. “Just not physically.”  
  
Brandon heard the drummer chuckle at his comment before going through the drawers on the dresser.  
  
“Have you seen my Folsom Prison shirt?” He asked after a moment.  
  
Brandon continued to stare at the ceiling fan’s spinning blades, “the white one? Look in the closet.” The singer finally looked up when he heard Ronnie open the closet doors. “I saw it when I last did laundry so- what the fuck?”  
  
Ronnie cast a glance back to his boyfriend in bed, “what?”  
  
“You're just…” Brandon gestured to the older man but his movements were muted by the blankets on top of him. “All out. Goin’ all out right now.”  
  
“Is this a problem?” Ronnie crossed his arms. “Bran, my dick was in your mouth last night and now you have a problem with modesty?”  
  
“No!” Brandon sat up in bed, “I was just surprised! I wasn't expecting a visit today.”  
  
“Oh, you don't want to see it?” Ronnie turned and fully revealed himself to Brandon.  
  
The singer let his eyes stray from Ronnie’s for a moment, “I’m not sure what to do with this information.” He stated before making eye-contact again.  
  
“You don't have to do anything,” Ronnie leaned against the closet’s door frame. Brandon looked back down and raised a brow.  
  
“We aren't leaving until eleven…” Brandon cast his blankets aside and crawled to the end of the bed. Much to his annoyance, Ronnie turned back around to rifle through the closet.  
  
“Not if we go to Waffle House first.” Brandon, who had been trying (and failing) to reach for Ronnie’s ass, stopped his attempts.  
  
“We are?” Ronnie found his shirt and grabbed a pair of jeans before he headed back to the dresser to get his underwear.  
  
“We talked about it last night,” Ronnie glanced back to Brandon. “Remember?”  
  
“I must have been spacing out again.” The singer swung his legs off the bed but didn't stand.  
  
“You do that a lot lately.”  
  
Brandon shrugged, “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” It was then when Ronnie finally began to put his clothes on.  
  
“Like what?”  
  
The singer stared at his reflection in the mirror, “I don't know.”  
  
  
The other two guys were already at the studio when the couple got there. Dave immediately looked surprised at Brandon’s presence but the boy assumed it was because they had not talked since Dave called him just to tell him to stop calling. Mark didn't seem in on whatever had been causing the awkward mood. Brandon didn't even know if the bassist knew about what had happened only a few weeks earlier. The younger man kind of didn't want Mark to find out if Dave had not told him out of fear that the bassist would think the incident was his fault. The only reason he might come to that conclusion was what happened at the apartment maybe a week before the fight when he had come over to teach Brandon how to play bass.  
  
Nothing happened then, though. Brandon was overthinking things again.  
  
“Brandon!” Dave exclaimed when he saw the singer. “How are things?”  
  
The singer in question didn't know if he should mention the incident or not. “Things are… fine.”  
  
Dave’s eyes flickered to Ronnie. They had not spoken since a day or two after things had settled. “Not good, then?” Brandon figured that the guitarist’s concern stemmed from the fact that he didn't want the band to almost break up again.  
  
“No, no…” Brandon reached out to hold Ronnie’s hand, “It’s all good. I’m fine.” Dave seemed to get the memo and didn't address it any further.  
  
“So,” Dave said again once everyone was seated. “Who has what?” Brandon became nervous again and held Ronnie’s hand harder.  
  
The drummer cleared his throat, “I’ve been thinking-”  
  
“Oh God-” Dave interrupted.  
  
“We could call it… ‘Make You Feel Dirty.’” The room was silent. Brandon gave him a look. “No?”  
  
“I don't think it… conveys what we’re trying to get across.” Brandon spoke carefully. Dave snorted.  
  
“Yeah, this isn't your’s and Brandon’s sex album.” The room was silent again. Brandon stared at the wall.  
  
“Guess that’s a no, then.” Ronnie let go of Brandon’s hand and put his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders instead. In this act, Brandon was pulled closer to the older man on the couch they shared. Brandon didn't appreciate the gesture.  
  
The singer wanted to get out of the situation he was currently in so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’ve got some stuff.”  
  
Dave raised a brow, “stuff?”  
  
“Songs. I’ve got three technically. Not finished, though.”  
  
“What do you mean by technically?” Brandon sighed.  
  
“I mean… two of them are kinda the same. I call them Enterlude and Exitlude.” Ronnie’s head turned sharply to face Brandon but he didn't speak. “One to start and one to close but they have almost the same lyrics. I've got that and the chords figured out already. They’re short.”  
  
“I like it.” Mark nodded along to Dave’s statement. “What about the other one?”  
  
“The other one?” Brandon squeaked.  
  
“You said you had three.” Oh. Right.  
  
“Um… that’s more of an idea. I’ve got some lyrics, a synth line, and some chords but that’s all.”  
  
“Idea,” Dave mocked. “Well, let us see it.” Brandon really didn't want anyone to see anything.  
  
Brandon stood and sat back down at a piano bench that was maybe ten feet away. The rest of their band all adjusted their positions to see him better. “Here’s the synth line. It’ll be on a keyboard but-” Brandon looked up to see them staring. “Yeah, you get it.” Brandon played the notes that were by now so familiar to Ronnie. He had heard it without knowing so many times by now. It even predated their relationship.  
  
“I like it,” Dave said after Brandon was finished going through the looping melody a few times. Ronnie found himself smiling as he nodded in agreement.  
  
“Good, good. Do you want the other part-” Brandon looked at Dave this time. “Yeah, of course you do.” He played a chord and began to sing. “I need those eyes to tide me over…. I'll take your picture when I go…. Gives me strength and gives me patience…. But I'll never let you know…. I got nothin’ on you, babe…. But I always said I'll try…. Let me show you… how much I care.” He continued to play as he sang.  
  
“Is that a verse?” Dave asked. Brandon nodded.  
  
“Part of one, yeah. I only have a vague idea about the chorus right now. I’m still working on it.”  
  
“I like it. What about you guys?” He looked back to Mark and Ronnie. Mark made a reply but Ronnie was too busy thinking about the song to listen to it. He didn't want to outright assume who the song was about but… he had an idea.  
  
“I loved it,” he said after another quiet moment. “Good job, baby.”  
  
Brandon smiled bashfully and looked back down at the black and white keys.  
  
Yeah. It was definitely about him.  
  
  
The album was finished in June under the new name Sam’s Town. The next month they went on their first trip to Mexico to record the video for the album’s lead single, When You Were Young. From then to October they did a promotional tour for the album which came out on the third of that month.  
  
Brandon was tired from his busy schedule but he was thankful for it seeing as it took his mind off of other less desirable things. He liked touring, especially now that he didn't have to hide from his bandmates. He and Ronnie tried to stay modest around Mark but Dave was fair game. Dave had already seen so much. Dave would be fine.  
  
Brandon, however, would not be fine. He was tired of all the planes. He needed to get over that.  
  
They had been in Georgia when Brandon decided that he wasn't going to attempt to get over his fear any time soon. They had just finished their last show when the singer suggested they just drive home. Get a rental car and drive for thirty-three hours instead of flying for five. Ronnie asked him if he was out of anxiety medicine and Brandon supported the claim. He was lying.  
  
Ronnie couldn't say no to a face like Brandon’s though, mustache or not.  
  
So they got a rental car (pine tree air freshener and all) and decided to spend another day or two in Atlanta while the rest of the band retired to Vegas. Ronnie took Brandon to the Coca Cola factory. It was a pretty spiritual experience.  
  
After seeing the sights in Atlanta the couple decided to go to Savannah because they wanted to see the ocean one last time before they went home.  
  
That’s how Brandon found himself in a small car in the American south, bored out of his mind.  
  
He groaned and sighed dramatically, "I'm bored."  
  
"Don't worry," Ronnie said apathetically, "we'll be in Savannah soon."  
  
"Not soon enough," Brandon grumbled and rested his feet on the dashboard.  
  
"It's beautiful out here, Brandon," Ronnie said, "that's not interesting enough for you?"  
  
"We're not outside are we? We're stuck in this stuffy car," Brandon rolled the window down halfway.  
  
"Well, do you wanna stop at the next rest stop and walk around for a bit?" Ronnie suggested.  
  
"Yeah," Brandon muttered and fished his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket, "I need a new pack anyway."  
  
Brandon put a cigarette between his teeth but was interrupted before he could light it, "No you don't."  
  
"Excuse me," Brandon took the cigarette out of his mouth.  
  
"I said," Ronnie grabbed the box of cigarettes Brandon had rested on his thigh and chucked them out the window, "no."  
  
"Ronnie, what the fuck?!" Brandon watched the pack of cigarettes in the side mirror as they were discarded on the highway, left to be mangled by speeding cars, "What the hell is wrong with you?!"  
  
Ronnie was laughing hard, "What's the matter?"  
  
"You know what the fuck's the matter! Why would you do that?!"  
  
"Hey," Ronnie's tone got more serious, "those things are deadly, B. Really, it's time to start thinking about what they're doing to your voice."  
  
"I sound fine, asshole!" Brandon groaned, "You better fucking pull into the next rest stop we see, I don't care what you say."  
  
Ronnie rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, "Fine."  
  
They were silent for a long time. Brandon had forgotten about the one cigarette he had. He decided to save it for another time in case they didn't pass a rest stop for awhile. But he was bored out of his mind, and craving something. Anything.  
  
"God," Brandon groaned, "how much longer?"  
  
"I have no clue, baby," Ronnie sighed, "We can play road trip games if you want to pass the time so bad."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Like the license plate game."  
  
"No."  
  
"Look! There's a Wyoming license plate."  
  
"Stop."  
  
"There's Massachusetts..."  
  
"Ronnie, please."  
  
"Oh! Hawaii!"  
  
Brandon put his head in his hands, "Oh my God!"  
  
"Wow," Ronnie chuckled, "you sure do become a baby without your cancer sticks."  
  
"I'm just bored!" Brandon yelled.  
  
Ronnie faked a pout, "Aw, baby is bored."  
  
"I'm gonna kill you," Brandon grumbled.  
  
"Love youuu," Ronnie crooned slyly.  
  
More silence ensued between them. At some point, Ronnie started whistling to the tune of whatever song was on the radio.  
  
"Can you stop?" Brandon sighed.  
  
"Give me a reason to," Ronnie glanced at Brandon only to find the boy looking back. His eyes quickly scanned down the boy's body before returning to the road. There was more than just silence between them now.  
  
Brandon's mind started to reel with ideas on how to make the ride more fun. The side of his mouth picked up a little.  
  
His hand slid to the middle of Ronnie's thigh. The drummer smirked, "So, you're not mad at me anymore."  
  
"I was never mad," Brandon gently began to rub his thigh, "just annoyed."  
  
"And bored," Ronnie noted.  
  
"Yes," Brandon unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned into Ronnie's ear, "very bored."  
  
"C'mon now," Ronnie chuckled, "you're not practicing proper road safety."  
  
Brandon chuckled against Ronnie's skin as he began leaving open-mouth kisses down his neck. His hand traveled upward and began working on his boyfriend's belt. Once it was unbuckled, Brandon was able to unbutton and unzip the drummer's pants as he continued kissing down his skin.  
  
When Brandon's hand suddenly slid under the waistband of both his jeans and his briefs, Ronnie gasped, "You're perpetrating distracted driving, Mr. Flowers."  
  
"You're not making much of an effort to stop me, Mr. Vannucci," Brandon smiled against his skin as he stroked Ronnie slowly.  
  
Brandon pulled Ronnie out of his jeans completely and picked up the pace of his hand. He positioned himself so that he was kneeling sideways in his own seat and his body was bent over the console. His mouth was now only inches away from Ronnie's dick. Every breath out of his mouth made Ronnie shudder slightly.  
  
"I mean," Ronnie sighed, "if we crashed it would be kinda funny for whoever found our bodies. I can see the headline now—Singer of The Killers found dead with eight inches of drummer's cock down throat."  
  
"Eight inches?" Brandon faked a chuckle, "You're funny."  
  
"Let me dream," Ronnie breathed out.  
  
Brandon finally took Ronnie into his mouth and the drummer grunted. His knuckles went white on the steering wheel as he tightened his grip.  
  
Brandon slowly descended Ronnie's length completely before hollowing his cheeks out and pulling off of him. His tongue stayed flat on the underside of his shaft the entire time, making Ronnie groan.  
  
"Fuck," Ronnie said breathlessly, "just like that." He let one of his hands fall from the steering wheel and placed it on the back of Brandon's head. He gently felt the singer's soft hair over his fingertips. It was hard not to watch Brandon as he worked his mouth over him.  
  
They kept this rhythm for a few minutes. It had been awhile since they were able to do this without restraining themselves to the hushed confines of the bus bedroom.  
  
"Hey," Ronnie managed to chuckle out, "we just passed a rest stop if you still wanna get your cigarettes."  
  
Brandon pulled off and looked up Ronnie from the corner of his eye, "My mouth is wrapped around something a little more important right now."  
  
"How kind of you," Ronnie remarked before Brandon took him back into his mouth.  
  
Ronnie's hips lifted off the seat slightly when Brandon suddenly moaned around him. He briefly glanced over to his boyfriend and saw that the boy had started palming himself through his jeans. Ronnie swore under his breath, "You're so hot, baby."  
  
Brandon pulled off to catch his breath and smiled, his lips red and glistening. His hand continued working Ronnie at the same pace his mouth had been.  
  
Brandon rolled his tongue around Ronnie's tip before taking his whole length into his mouth again. Ronnie groaned loud and struggled to keep his remaining hand on the wheel.  
  
"I have to pull over, baby," Ronnie began turning the wheel to the right, "holy shit."  
  
There was a small dusty side-road that Ronnie rolled into. As soon as he pulled over to the side, he put the car in park, unbuckled himself, and placed both hands on the side of Brandon's head.  
  
"Don't stop, B," Ronnie was panting now, "Please."  
  
Brandon moaned around Ronnie again and applied more pressure to the hand over his bulge. He bobbed his head and moved his hand faster, each sound that escaped Ronnie only motivated him further.  
  
The hands Ronnie placed on Brandon's head were gently holding the boy's head as the drummer lifted his hips in time with Brandon's movements. Their rhythm was perfectly in sync, and Ronnie knew he wasn't going to last much longer.  
  
"Baby," Ronnie whined, "I'm so close."  
  
Brandon brought the hand he was using on himself to Ronnie's thigh and started to soothingly rub him. He moaned around Ronnie once more before hollowing out his cheeks, dragging his lips along his length, and stopping at the tip to roll his tongue across it. Ronnie unraveled.  
  
With a loud moan, Ronnie released into Brandon's mouth. His torso was rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. Brandon hummed around Ronnie as he came down from his high, still gently rubbing his thigh. Pants were still falling out of Ronnie's lips as Brandon popped off of him.  
  
"So," Brandon smiled as he began zipping Ronnie's jeans back up, "I did a good job?"  
  
"Nine out of ten," Ronnie sighed, "your mustache was a little ticklish."  
  
"Shut up," Brandon finished getting Ronnie's pants on properly, then grabbed the drummer by the sides of his face and kissed him hard.  
  
Ronnie bit Brandon's lower lip and pulled it back, making the boy whine into his mouth. When Ronnie released his bite, Brandon spoke against his lips, "Please fuck me."  
  
"I will," Ronnie slid his hand into the Brandon's sweatpants and started stroking him, "but not here."  
  
Brandon whined, both from pleasure and annoyance, "Why not? I want you now."  
  
"Listen," Ronnie put his hand behind Brandon's head and touched their foreheads together, "we'll drive a little while longer. We can talk about all the things we want to do to each other–," Brandon moaned breathily, "–and we can get a motel room for the night. Does that sound good?"  
  
"Yes," Brandon breathed against Ronnie's lips. They reconnected their lips and Ronnie picked up the pace of his hand.  
  
It didn't take long until Brandon's body shook with a sudden jolt, and a breathy string of moans escaped against Ronnie's lips. He released over Ronnie's fist and continued to mewl as the drummer stroked slowly.  
  
Ronnie pulled his hand away and looked at it with his eyebrows furrowed, "Uh.."  
  
Brandon, who was still trying catch his breath, struggled to make his way out of the door. Ronnie heard the trunk open and close a few moments later. His boyfriend returned with wipe. He panted as he handed it to Ronnie, "I knew these would come in handy—no pun intended."  
  
Ronnie chuckled and wiped his hand. He contemplated throwing the wipe out the window, but let his morals stop him. He grimaced as he gently folded the wipe and put in the cupholder, "For the love of God make sure I throw that away as soon as we see a trash can."  
  
Brandon laughed, “we aren't going to the beach anymore, are we Ron?”  
  
“Probably not. Fuck the beach.”  
  
“Fuck me,” Brandon murmured.  
  
“Be patient!”  
  
Their idea didn't go quite as planned. Rather than talking about naughty things, they spent the majority of the time lazily singing along to the radio. Their hands were intertwined with each other's on the console. At one point, Ronnie asked Brandon a question only to look over and see that he had fallen asleep against the window. The drummer took the time at a stoplight to take a picture of the boy as he slept. It'd be nice for embarrassing him later.  
  
When they finally spotted some motel signs lining the road, their previous feelings seemed to reignite.  
  
The couple pulled up to a motel with an empty parking lot and a buzzing "vacancy" sign.  
  
Ronnie parked their rental car and winked at the singer before turning the key and stepping out. The drummer stretched his sore muscles that had been in the same position for hours now. Across from him on the other side of the car was his boyfriend, raising his arms above his head in a stretch. Ronnie peeked at the sliver of skin that showed as Brandon's shirt lifted above his jeans. Brandon caught his eye and smirked at him before they started making their way to the concierge.  
  
When the couple got to the desk, Ronnie flashed the employee a smile. As it was midnight, the gesture was not reciprocated.  
  
"Hello, we need a room, please. Just for the night." Ronnie pulled out his wallet.  
  
"Sure thing, two beds?"  
  
The drummer had a few options. He could say that they needed two beds and play it safe, ignoring the extra bed in the room. Or, he could tell this stranger, who clearly had no interest in who they were, that they only needed one bed and run the extremely slight risk that their secret will be out to the public.  
  
"Uh, actually," Ronnie felt Brandon discreetly grab his hand, "we'll only be needing one." Brandon smiled and looked away so that the employee wouldn't see.  
  
"Okay, $51 is your total. Room 13," the woman didn't seemed fazed at all by their request and Ronnie felt slightly relieved. He handed her a $100 bill and thanked her when she handed him their key and his change.  
  
They started walking back to the car to grab their suitcases when Ronnie turned to Brandon.  
  
"Take the key and find the room, I got the bags," Ronnie said as he opened the trunk. Brandon nodded and turned with a smirk. Ronnie chuckled to himself as he watched the singer walk off. Something was definitely stirring in his boyfriend's mind.  
  
Ronnie grabbed the two duffel bags and closed the trunk before heading in the direction that he saw Brandon walk off to. He saw an open door and as he got closer he saw the small "13" sign next to it.  
  
When Ronnie entered the room, he set the bags down and shut the door. He turned around from the doorway and inspected the room.  
  
"Well, it's not the pretties-" Ronnie was interrupted by Brandon's lips on his.  
  
Ronnie was shocked at first but certainly didn't protest. He put his hands on his boyfriend's hips as Brandon slipped his tongue inside Ronnie's mouth. Brandon took a hold of the back of Ronnie's shirt and pulled away from the kiss with a wicked smirk on his face. He guided Ronnie towards the middle of the room before deciding he had enough space for his plan.  
  
In one quick movement, Brandon had brought his legs out from underneath him so that he landed on the ground with Ronnie on top of him.  
  
"Jesus, Brandon," Ronnie chuckled, "we just risked exposing our relationship to get this bed and we aren't even going to use it, are we?"  
  
"C'mon," Brandon was still smirking, "this is hot." Brandon lifted himself up to connect their lips again. They continued making out like that for a few minutes, letting out soft noises against each other's mouths and feeling each other get harder as they went on.  
  
Brandon slid his hand up to Ronnie's side and gave it a pat as he slowly rose from the ground. Ronnie was now in Brandon's previous position on the floor as his boyfriend took his jeans off slowly. He slid his briefs off next, causing Ronnie to bite his lip. Brandon smirked at him before turning to the bags to grab lube and a condom.  
  
When Brandon returned to Ronnie, he unbuckled Ronnie's jeans and pulled them off before discarding them to the side. He eyed the obvious bulge in the drummer's briefs and it took all his willpower to not suck him off right there. But Brandon had other ideas.  
  
"Gimme your hand," Brandon was still smiling flirtatiously. Ronnie complied and brought his hand over to Brandon. Brandon brought the calloused hand to his lips and stuck the index and middle finger into his mouth. Ronnie's mouth opened slightly. Brandon's lips were wrapped around the two fingers as he worked his tongue over them. Ronnie watched closely with pupils blown wide and felt himself grow harder in his briefs.  
  
Brandon hollowed out his cheeks and pulled the fingers out. He then reached over to the lube and popped the cap before coating the same two fingers.  
  
"If we had lube the entire time," Ronnie was already breathing heavily, "then you sucked my fingers just to turn me on."  
  
"Well," Brandon spread the liquid evenly onto Ronnie's fingers and glanced at Ronnie's hard-on, "it worked, didn't it?"  
  
Brandon positioned himself so that his ass was resting on Ronnie's clothed erection, eliciting a gasp from the drummer. Brandon smiled and wriggled his hips on the bulge purely to watch his boyfriend shudder beneath him.  
  
Brandon guided Ronnie's slicked fingers to his ass and kept eye contact with the drummer as he slid one finger inside of him. Ronnie watched as Brandon's mouth opened with a moan and his eyebrows furrowed. Ronnie smirked at the singer's reaction, slowly pulling his finger all the way out before pushing it back in. Brandon whimpered and pushed back to meet Ronnie's movement.  
  
Ronnie slid in another finger and continued this same rhythm of Brandon pushing himself back onto Ronnie's hands. It was shocking to Ronnie that Brandon's body looked so weak and feeble but he was able to move on Ronnie's hand so erotically.  
  
"Fuck," Ronnie let out in a heavy breath, "I wish you could see yourself." The corners of Brandon's mouth turned up and the blush on his cheeks deepened.  
  
Ronnie brought his other hand to Brandon's cheek, where he softly caressed his face. He moved his hand up to gently run through Brandon's hair. He was so beautiful. Even with his mouth hanging open and his face contorted in a continuous moan, he was beautiful.  
  
Ronnie's endearing thoughts were interrupted by a ringing cell phone.  
  
Brandon and Ronnie both looked at each other confused. Who was calling them at midnight?  
  
Conveniently, Brandon's cell phone was right on the edge of the bed they were next to. Brandon grabbed it quickly and looked at the small screen.  
  
"Ugh," Brandon rolled his eyes, "Dave."  
  
"Oh, so you have caller ID on that one?" Ronnie mused.  
  
"Shh," Brandon was trying to seem annoyed but he was smiling. Ronnie stopped moving his fingers as Brandon answered the call.  
  
"Hello? Yeah we're fine, what do you want? Well, we're fine," Brandon looked annoyed but Ronnie found it endearing, "We stopped at some sights and we just got to our motel."  
  
Ronnie had a terrible idea.  
  
The drummer bit his lip and slowly began to move his fingers. Brandon's eyes fluttered shut and his mouth was open again.  
  
"Yeah the-the room was only $51 for one night so," he swallowed and took a breath in, "we're not spending too much."  
  
Ronnie smiled and curved his fingers, finding the spot he was looking for. With a jolt, Brandon pulled the phone away from his mouth and let out a sudden moan.  
  
"What was that Dave?" Brandon asked as he brought the phone back to his mouth with a shaking hand, "No, no I'm fine."  
  
Ronnie slipped a third finger in, curved it the same way, and watched as Brandon bit his lip in a desperate attempt to stay quiet.  
  
"D-Dave are we done? Please, I-" Brandon covered the microphone on the phone and whined before returning to the call, "we've been driving all day I'm t-tired." Ronnie was still trying his hardest not to laugh.  
  
"Okay, okay... I will. I'll k-keep you in touch- god- bye, Dave." Brandon pressed the hang-up button and threw his phone onto the bed, "You're such an asshole," Brandon whined as he began to meet Ronnie's movements again.  
  
"Do you think Dave caught on?" Ronnie was smirking and giggling to himself.  
  
"I don't care," Brandon moaned and pushed himself onto Ronnie harder, "I need you to fuck me." Ronnie's cock twitched at Brandon's plea and Brandon smirked for a small moment as he felt it against him.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you," Ronnie smirked and massaged the spot inside Brandon's body.  
  
"Oh-oh god," Brandon was speaking in a broken voice, "I need you inside me, Ron." Ronnie contemplated having Brandon repeat it one more time, but he needed release as much as Brandon so he thought against it.  
  
Ronnie flipped them over so that Brandon was on the floor again and he was hovering over him. Brandon quickly took off Ronnie's shirt before pulling him into a sloppy kiss. Ronnie's hand scoured floor for a moment until he found the condom. He pulled away from the kiss for a short second to roll it onto himself and slick himself up. As Ronnie prepared himself, he leaned back down to his boyfriend and slid his tongue against Brandon's bottom lip. He gently bit it as he positioned himself against Brandon's entrance.  
  
Ronnie felt Brandon's hot breath panting against his mouth and felt the moan escape Brandon's throat as he finally slid himself in. Brandon's face flashed in pain for a moment before melting into a look of ecstasy.  
  
Ronnie moved his lips to Brandon's neck where his mustache scraped against the soft skin. Brandon wrapped his legs around the drummer in an attempt to bring  Ronnie closer to him. Brandon's moans and whines were right against Ronnie's ears and with every sound that escaped the singer, Ronnie felt a shock spread throughout his body.  
  
Ronnie brought his teeth to Brandon's neck and slid a hand in between them to take the boy into his hand.  
  
"Ron, don't stop," Brandon gasped and wrapped his arms around Ronnie's back, "please don't stop."  
  
Ronnie grunted against Brandon's skin as he listened to him beg. The drummer continued to leave marks on his boyfriend's skin. They'd be out of the public eye for a few more days, so Brandon's skin would have enough time to heal. Ronnie pulled away for a second and admired the marks he had created. Brandon's head was thrown back and Ronnie watched as his adam's apple bobbed when noises escaped his throat.  
  
"You look so beautiful, baby," Ronnie said in a shuddery voice as he stroked Brandon, "so, so beautiful."  
  
Ronnie returned to Brandon's throat and left one more bite mark before kissing his way back up to Brandon's mouth. The singer moaned into his mouth as Ronnie made contact with his lips. Ronnie was still in love with those lips. He bit, licked, and kissed them as he stroked the writhing boyfriend beneath him.  
  
"Ron, Ron... I'm so close," Brandon whined against Ronnie's mouth.  
  
"Me too, baby," Ronnie picked up the pace of his hips and the speed of his hand on Brandon, "fuck, me too."  
  
They stayed in that rhythm for a few more moments—whining, grunting, kissing, moving. When Ronnie felt the knot in his lower stomach start to uncoil he brought his mouth to Brandon's ear.  
  
"I'm gonna come, baby, I'm gonna-" with a gasp and a groan, Ronnie came and released a string of swears and calls of Brandon's name.  
  
Brandon's grip on Ronnie's back tightened and his breath became fast and short.  
  
"Ronnie, fuck, I-" Brandon's eyes rolled to the back of his head before he closed them tight and let out one last loud moan. He released all over his stomach and Ronnie's fist as a stream of whines fell from his lips.  
  
While they caught their breath, they laid with their foreheads touching. Ronnie began leaving soft kisses on Brandon's face as they came down from their high. The two of them stood up and walked over to the small bathroom. As Ronnie washed his hands and watched Brandon clean himself up, he smiled. It seemed like it was just yesterday they were in a hotel room on Ronnie's birthday doing the same thing.  
  
"Oh wow," Brandon stroked a hand over his bite marks with a smile, "that's hot." Ronnie pulled Brandon close to him and kissed his cheek before grabbing his hand and walking him to the bed.  
  
Once they were under the covers, Brandon rested his head on Ronnie's chest and the drummer's hand settled on Brandon's lower back.  
  
"Goodnight, baby."  
  
"Goodnight... hey, Ron?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I don't wanna go home. I'm happy here with you."  
  
"We can worry about that when we get there."  
  
"I don't wanna worry about anything, Ron."  
  
"I'll be right there with you, baby."  
  
"Okay... hey, Ron?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I love you so much, B."  
  
  
Brandon’s scheme fell apart the next morning. Ronnie emerged from the motel room’s bathroom looking glum.  
  
Brandon picked up on it, “what’s wrong?”  
  
“Oh,” Ronnie sighed. “I’m out of shampoo-”  
  
“Mine’s in my bag.” Brandon looked back to the many take out menus he had found in a kitchen drawer. No Waffle House yet.  
  
“Thanks, baby.” The drummer went to search Brandon’s duffel bag and came up empty-handed after a moment.  
  
“It’s in the pocket,” Brandon said, not looking up. Ronnie laughed quietly.  
  
He went to unzip the inside pocket and found something that definitely wasn't shampoo. An undoubtedly not empty pill bottle. Ronnie contemplated bringing it up to Brandon but decided that it would do more harm than good.  
  
“Have you got it?” The drummer glanced back to see the singer still flipping through menus.  
  
Ronnie shoved the pills back into the bag and unzipped the outside pocket. He had found his prize. “Yeah,” he replied, letting the bag drop back onto the floor. He turned around to see Brandon smiling to himself. The older man took in his younger boyfriend’s features: two beauty marks, one on his cheek and one above his eyebrow. He looked less boyish now seeing as he had a mustache and a bit of beard. He kept his hair shorter now and there was no longer any indication that it had ever been bleached in a bathroom at midnight in a tipsy haze. Not drunk enough to regret it the next morning but brave enough to try. Ronnie smiled, only a little sad about it. He was still beautiful, just more mature.  
  
Ronnie had hardly noticed the drastic change in his boyfriend’s appearance before now.  
  
Brandon looked up, “what are you looking at?” He smirked.  
  
“You should bleach your hair again,” Ronnie replied.  
  
The singer snorted, “I’m never bleaching or dying my hair ever again.”  
  
“I never said you had to dye it-”  
  
“Good, ‘cause I'm not doing it.” Brandon put the menus back in the drawer he found them in and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Why do you want me to bleach my hair?”  
  
“I liked it. I never got to appreciate it back in the old days.” By ‘old days’ he meant 2003.  
  
“Three years ago?” Brandon asked. “That isn't that long. Probably not even three years.” He pondered for a moment. “Two and a half.”  
  
“We weren't dating then, I mean. I couldn't run my hands through it like I can now.” Brandon laughed hard.  
  
“That didn't stop you back then!”  
  
“I was showing great restraint.”  
  
“God,” Brandon crossed his arms. “We were so gay back then. Why didn't you ask me out sooner?”  
  
Ronnie scoffed, “maybe because you denied me a month earlier and you were getting over a drinking problem.”  
  
“Still am. That’s no excuse, Vannucci.”  
  
  
The drummer shrugged, “at least you’ll admit it now.”  
  
“That I have a drinking problem?” Brandon raised a brow.  
  
“No,” Ronnie stopped himself. “Well, yes, that too. I'm talking about you totally being in love with me in ‘03.”  
  
“I thought that was obvious.” Ronnie groaned.  
  
“You bitch!” He gestured wildly with his arms, “you get all buddy-buddy with me in a taxi, nearly inhale my nose, deny my advances for two years, and now you tell me you liked me?”  
  
“‘Inhale your nose’, what the fuck?” The singer laughed. “You didn't know?”  
  
Ronnie let his arms fall to his sides, “I thought you were being friendly!”  
  
“We cuddled every night!”  
  
“Cuddling and having my dick up your ass are two very different things, Flowers.”  
  
“I can't believe this.” Brandon closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, still chuckling.  
  
“I’m taking a shower now.” Brandon playfully waved goodbye.  
  
“Yeah, okay. Wait- what do you mean by ‘inhale your nose’? Ronnie you can't just say things like that and expect me not to question it.” The drummer disappeared behind the bathroom door. “Ronnie? When did this happen? Was I drunk?” Brandon sighed from outside the door. “Don't answer that. I'm getting answers later, mister. I need to hear about this.”

  
  
**Chapter V: _A Subtle Kiss That No One Sees_**

  
  
“It’s hard to get into the mood to write a Christmas song when it’s October and eighty-two degrees outside,” Brandon said from his usual spot on the floor.  
  
“You’re going to throw out your back by doing that,” Ronnie spoke loud so Brandon could hear him from the kitchen. Brandon looked back at him to see him tapping a pen to his head. “You’re going to develop a slouch.”  
  
“What are you doing?” Brandon turned back to the empty notepad in front of him.  
  
“Making a grocery list. What are you doing?”  
  
The singer sighed, “I told you, I’m trying to write the Christmas song.”  
  
“Would milk help? A warm glass of milk to soothe the soul and get you into the mood?” Brandon heard the refrigerator door open. The apartment was silent for a brief moment before he heard pen scribbling on paper. “Nevermind.”  
  
“I do need a drink though.” Brandon stood and made his way to the kitchen. He tried to reach past Ronnie to get into one of the cabinets but he was stopped.  
  
“Brandon…” Ronnie warned. “We made a deal.”  
  
“One glass of wine isn't going to hurt.”  
  
“I knew we shouldn't have bought it. I knew if it was around you’d be tempted-”  
  
“I’m not tempted!” Ronnie crossed his arms and raised a brow. “I just want some to help with the good old song writing process. It’s Christmas! Jesus’ birthday!”  
  
“It’s October.” Ronnie deadpanned. Brandon groaned and pushed past him, retrieving his glass.  
  
“Look,” he went to the fridge to get the bottle of red wine and poured himself a glass. “Are you looking?”  
  
“I don't want to,” Ronnie said, finally returning his gaze to his boyfriend.  
  
Brandon took the bottle and held it over the kitchen’s trash bin and after a moment of hesitation he dropped it in with a loud crash.  
  
“Brandon!” Ronnie rushed to the can to look inside.  
  
“I know! Aren't you happy?” Brandon smiled to himself and put his hands on his hips.  
  
“Brandon, that bottle was half full!” Ronnie tilted the can into the light to see into it better.  
  
“Yeah,” Brandon’s smile grew larger. “Temptation who?”  
  
“Brandon!” The man in question dropped his smile and looked at his boyfriend with a confused face.  
  
“I don't understand what the problem here is.” Ronnie jerked the trash can and the contents sloshed inside. “Oh. I see now.” Brandon looked into the can and examined the liquid and broken glass inside. “Thank God I emptied it this morning. Maybe add ‘trash can’ to that list.”  
  
“I’m proud of you, baby, I really am,” Ronnie took Brandon’s hand and held tightly onto it. “But next time you make a statement like that maybe you should pour it all out first.”  
  
“Yeah,” Brandon nodded. “Yeah, I get that.”  
  
Ronnie let go of his boyfriend and went back to his list, “listen, while I’m gone can you take it out to the big dumpster behind the complex?”  
  
“You want me to throw away the trash can... in the dumpster? Is that allowed?” Brandon went back to his glass and took a sip.  
  
“You act like the universe will cease to be if you throw away a trash can.” Ronnie went over his list one last time before putting it in his pocket.  
  
Brandon shrugged, “I’ve never thrown away a trash can before so I wouldn't know.”  
  
Ronnie grabbed his keys and wallet before giving Brandon a quick kiss, “when I’m back there better not be any black holes in the parking lot. I’ll be back soon. Love you.”  
  
Brandon grinned, “I’ll try. I love you too.” The singer leaned against the countertop and sipped on his drink as he watched his boyfriend leave. When Ronnie was gone he shot the trash can a glare. He really didn't want to do that—it had been his favorite kind of wine, after all.  
  
Once he had decided that he had won his staring contest with the object he put his glass down and picked up the can. He hauled it outside and dragged it down the concrete steps of his apartment building. He made his way around to the back of the building and spotted the dumpster.  
  
The bag dripped when he pulled it out so he quickly tossed it in the dumpster. Brandon then nudged the plastic black bin closer to the dumpster and decided that he had done a good enough job.  
  
On the way back to his apartment he got an idea.  
  
I've been racking my brain with thoughts of peace and love. How on earth did we get so mixed up? I pray to God it don't last a long time.  
  
  
Ronnie walked into the bedroom and saw his boyfriend sprawled on the bed under the covers with a book in his hands. Brandon looked confused, and Ronnie was just as perplexed at the situation, "Are you reading?"  
  
Brandon rolled his eyes, "I thought that was obvious.”  
  
"Why?" Ronnie made his way over to the bed and sat down.  
  
"Because I want to?" Brandon's voice rose in pitch slightly as he defended himself. It wasn't very convincing.  
  
"No, really," Ronnie grinned, "why are you reading?"  
  
"Because I can't figure out what the fuck to write the Christmas song about!" Brandon sighed and let the book fall out of his hands.  
  
"Well, I don't think," Ronnie peaked at the cover, "reading How the Grinch Stole Christmas will give you any original ideas.”  
  
"Anything will give me a fucking idea," Brandon picked the book up and threw it against the wall, "I just need a few more lines and I'll have it pieced together, I know it."  
  
"You have time, baby," Ronnie rubbed Brandon's covered thigh soothingly, "these things come naturally. Don't force it."  
  
"You sound like a Hallmark card," Brandon covered his face with his hands.  
  
"At least a Hallmark card can make you feel better," Ronnie crawled up the bed and kneeled next to Brandon's hips.  
  
Brandon grumbled and reached one hand out to hold Ronnie's, "Please do."  
  
The drummer slid under the covers with his boyfriend and straddled Brandon's tiny hips. Ronnie leaned down and kissed him gently. Brandon kissed back just as tenderly. Their lips moved slowly, sweetly grazing over each other's rhythmically.  
  
Brandon pulled away and pressed his forehead to Ronnie's, "I just wish I could stop worrying about it."  
  
"You will when it's done," Ronnie rubbed his nose against Brandon's affectionately, "and it will get done. For now, I think you need to get your mind off of it."  
  
"Oh," Brandon smiled and wrapped his arms around Ronnie's neck, "so you think you can help me do that?"  
  
"I know I can," Ronnie returned the smile and caressed Brandon's ear gently.  
  
"Maybe you're right," Brandon kissed Ronnie's cheek, "I'll be thinking about your god awful mustache instead."  
  
"Hey," Ronnie looked offended, "I think I look great."  
  
"You're still handsome," Brandon curled a piece of hair behind Ronnie's ear, "just not as handsome as you were before."  
  
"You're such an ass," Ronnie chuckled, "I look hot."  
  
Brandon laughed.  
  
"I do!" Ronnie lowered his voice, "C'mon. You don't dig this whole 70's porn star look I have going?"  
  
"God," Brandon shook his head slightly, "it's even worse when you describe it like that."  
  
"At least my mustache is full," Ronnie kissed Brandon once before pulling away with a smirk, "yours just kind of makes you look like Alvin the Chipmunk."  
  
"You're so mean!" Brandon slapped Ronnie's arm playfully and chuckled. Ronnie laughed and began kissing along Brandon's jawline, "God, it's so itchy.”  
  
"I'll make you fall in love this mustache, Flowers," Ronnie smiled against Brandon's skin.  
  
"I'd love to see you try," Brandon spoke softly and let his eyes flutter shut.  
  
Ronnie moved down from Brandon's jaw to the soft skin of his neck. The singer sighed and let his leg wrap around Ronnie's backside, pushing him closer against Brandon's body.  
  
Once Ronnie's lips reached the nape of Brandon's neck he began leaving small bite marks over the pale skin. They wouldn't be in the public eye in the near future, and the breathy sounds Brandon made whenever he bit the sensitive skin there was well worth it.  
  
"Take your shirt off," Ronnie muttered against Brandon's neck before pulling away. The singer eagerly obliged and pulled his top off quickly. He discarded the article of clothing to the corner of the room and ran his hands through Ronnie's hair as he returned his lips to his neck.  
  
The leg Brandon had wrapped around Ronnie pressed the drummer as close to his body as possible. His body ached for even the tiniest bit of friction on his bulge.  
  
Ronnie must have noticed Brandon's neediness, because his kisses became sloppier as he quickly made his way down the singer's chest. The feeling of his mustache on Brandon's skin had changed from an itch to a pleasant scratch, but Brandon would never tell him how much he liked it.  
  
"Ron!" Brandon gasped when Ronnie wrapped his lips around his nipple. The drummer flattened his tongue along the sensitive skin and Brandon whined.  
  
Ronnie pulled off and smiled cheekily. Brandon raised his eyebrows and smiled back, "What?"  
  
Ronnie let the bedspread cover his head as he descended the boy's body. Brandon giggled, "Where you goin'?"  
  
The drummer held the boy's hips and left wet, open-mouthed kisses on his stomach. Brandon found his hips lifting off the bed slightly in response to the touch, but Ronnie was quick to pin them back to the bed. Brandon smiled to himself and sighed breathlessly under his grip.  
  
Ronnie's lips and tongue grazed across Brandon's hipbones and along the waistband of his sweatpants. Ronnie hooked his fingers under the pants and pulled them down to his knees. Brandon chuckled, "I hope you don't mind that I don't have underwear on."  
  
"Not at all," Ronnie said from under the comforter. His hot breath grazed Brandon's shaft and the singer found his hips once again lifting off the bed.  
  
Ronnie pressed wet, scratchy kisses on Brandon's upper thigh.  
  
"I don't know why, but something about not seeing you while you do this is so hot," Brandon chuckled.  
  
"Is it because you can't see my mustache?" Ronnie mumbled against his skin.  
  
"Maybe," Brandon replied through an obvious grin. Ronnie bit his inner thigh in response and Brandon yelped.  
  
Ronnie continued to press kisses along the sensitive skin of Brandon’s thigh, moving teasingly close to where Brandon wanted him most. Ronnie took Brandon’s length into his hand and the boy gasped. He hummed approvingly when Ronnie slowly moved his hand up and down, still pressing kisses to his thigh.  
  
“Ronnie,” Brandon begged breathlessly. Ronnie’s hand was going painfully slow, “Please.”  
  
“Please, what?” Ronnie asked softly from under the covers, his warm breath still against Brandon’s dick.  
  
“Please,” Brandon hated when Ronnie had him this desperate, “please s-suck me off.” He nearly cringed at his own words.  
  
Ronnie let go of Brandon, eliciting a groan from his boyfriend. Ronnie emerged from the covers, his hair slightly a mess and a smile on his face, “What makes you think I’m gonna do that?”  
  
“You are…” Brandon paused and shook his head, “the biggest asshole.”  
  
“Don’t make fun of my mustache then,” Ronnie retorted. Brandon couldn’t help but laugh and pull Ronnie down for a kiss. Their lips only met for a few seconds before Ronnie pulled away and moved his mouth to Brandon’s ear, “I’ll totally fuck you, though.”  
  
“Don’t keep me waiting then,” Brandon kissed Ronnie’s cheek before the older man pulled away, reaching for the bedside nightstand. While he retrieved what he needed, Brandon shimmied his pants all the way down and kicked them down to the end of the bed.  
  
When Ronnie was kneeling and facing Brandon again, Brandon reached for his belt almost immediately. He eyed the unmistakable outline showing through his jeans and grinned. Ronnie watched his hands fumbling with his belt and chuckled, “Eager, are we?”  
  
“This is you fault for teasing me,” Brandon finally pulled the belt off and chucked it across the room. He wasted no time pulling both Ronnie’s jeans and underwear down at once. Ronnie lifted his knees one by one and successfully tossed his pants beside the bed.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Ronnie leaned down so that his lips just barely hovered over Brandon’s, “I’ll make up for that.”  
  
Brandon sighed at the comment as they connected lips once more. Brandon found his hands reaching around Ronnie’s back to start lifting his shirt up. Ronnie got the message and pulled away from the kiss to remove his top.  
  
Ronnie popped open the bottle of lube and quickly poured some on his fingers, not worrying about the possible mess. He pressed his lips to Brandon’s neck as he slipped his hand in between the singer’s thighs. Ronnie teased a finger around Brandon’s entrance before sliding it in slowly. The younger boy’s head hit the pillow as a groan escaped his lips. Ronnie smiled against Brandon’s neck when he felt the moan against his lips.  
  
They quickly worked through the next two fingers, motivated by Brandon’s eager begging. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as Ronnie curved his fingers inside of him. Brandon’s back arched of the bed in a small jolt as he let out a breathy whine, “Ron, please. I’m ready.”  
  
“You sure?” Ronnie asked, pressing a kiss to Brandon’s temple.  
  
“Yes,” Brandon nodded quickly, “please.”  
  
Ronnie listened, pulling his fingers out of Brandon and reached for the condom he had placed to his side. Once he rolled it onto himself, the drummer hovered over Brandon, who was still panting beneath him. The singer spread his legs wider, inviting Ronnie to come between them.  
  
The older man positioned himself at Brandon’s entrance, making the singer bite his lip and sigh. Ronnie smiled to himself—they had been together for nearly two years but Brandon still responded to Ronnie’s touch the same way he did when they first got together.  
  
When Ronnie finally pushed himself into Brandon, the singer clutched onto the bare skin of Ronnie’s back and yelped. His legs wrapped around the drummer’s hips firmly. Ronnie shuddered slightly, taking in the feeling, “You okay, B?”  
  
“Yeah,” Brandon sighed, “please, keep going.”  
  
Ronnie obliged, pulling out of Brandon slowly and pushing himself all the way back in. Brandon mewled and brought Ronnie closer to him by pulling down on where he was gripping him on the back. Ronnie buried his head in Brandon’s neck and kissed it softly. Ronnie started a steady rhythm with his thrusts. He picked up his pace, motivated by the needy sounds escaping Brandon’s lips.  
  
“God,” Brandon breathed out, “harder, Ron.”  
  
When Ronnie pulled himself out again, he thrusted in harder than he had been. Brandon moaned and dug his fingernails into Ronnie’s back. Ronnie bit Brandon’s neck gently with a grunt. Brandon moved his head towards Ronnie so that his hot breath was against Ronnie’s ear when he spoke, “Har-harder- fuck!”  
  
Ronnie adjusted himself so that he had a firm grip on the sheets of the bed. He pulled out again and slammed himself into Brandon. The singer’s head hit the pillow as his back arched slightly off the bed. He gripped Ronnie tighter, “Yes!”  
  
The drummer continued his deep thrusts but increased his speed as he did so, eliciting a steady stream of swears, cries, and “Ronnie”s out of Brandon’s mouth. Ronnie could feel Brandon’s fingernails digging into his back and smiled at the thought of carrying the scratches around for a few more days.  
  
Soon, the headboard was hitting the wall behind the bed. Brandon briefly wondered if he’d get a noise complaint from any of his neighbors. He didn’t care. They already thought he was crazy.  
  
“Ronnie!” Brandon gasped, “I’m close—Ron!”  
  
“Me too, B,” Ronnie bit Brandon’s neck softly and the younger boy mewled beneath him.  
  
“Ronnie, Ronn-” the headboard hit the wall again, but it must have hit harder than any of the times before. A crack on the ceiling above Brandon’s bed lengthened with the force of the hit, causing the split to extend to the wall. This might not have been a big deal if it weren’t for the plaster that subsequently fell off the wall and onto the couple.  
  
Ronnie saw white powder and a small chunk of wall land on Brandon’s face, “What the fuck?!”  
  
“Shit!” Brandon took his hands off Ronnie and started wiping his face.  
  
“Oh my God,” Ronnie breathed, “are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Brandon coughed, “don’t stop.”  
  
“Don’t stop?! Brandon! Bits of your wall literally just fell on us,” Ronnie gestured towards the wall behind the bed.  
  
“Yeah, but,” Brandon whined and brushed off some plaster dust from Ronnie’s shoulder, “I’m so close!”  
  
“We’re moving out. Brandon, I love you, but we don’t need to live in this old apartment anymore,” Ronnie was still clearly out of breath.  
  
“Ugh,” Brandon rolled his eyes, “if I agree with you will you keep fucking me?”  
  
“We need to move, Brandon… I’m being serious. “  
  
“I’m being serious, too!” The singer defended, “We can… look for houses or whatever soon—just please fuck me.”  
  
Ronnie rolled his eyes with a smirk, he brushed some more dust off Brandon’s hair, “I really can’t believe you sometimes.”  
  
Blue light streamed into the bedroom and Ronnie slowly opened his eyes to find his bed empty. The drummer sighed deeply and turned over to see the time: 3:28 A.M.. He slowly sat up and rubbed his tired eyes before getting up and creeping into the hall. Light from the TV in the living room flashed across his face as he approached the source.  
  
Brandon sat on the couch in some kind of trance, staring at a far wall in the kitchen. The singer didn’t notice the drummer until he knocked on the wall softly.  
  
“Oh, hello,” Brandon said, straightening his back.  
  
Ronnie turned his gaze to the TV, “why bother having the TV on if the sound is off?”  
  
Brandon shrugged, “I dunno. I’m just thinking.” Ronnie approached his boyfriend and sat on the couch next to him.  
  
“What about?” Brandon sighed deeply and shook his head.  
  
“I don’t like being idle like this,” he waved one arm in front of him, motioning to the apartment.  
  
“What do you mean?” Ronnie settled further into the couch to become more comfortable. He knew that they would be there for a while.  
  
“I don’t- I don’t know.” Brandon struggled to find the words he was searching for. “I want to be busy but whenever I am I’m exhausted. I wanna leave but whenever we do I get so homesick but when we’re finally back I feel like I’m wasting my time.”  
  
“You’re not wasting your time, baby.” Ronnie spoke softly in hopes to comfort the singer.  
  
“I feel like I’m worthless when I’m here. I feel like I need to be working-”  
  
“You have worked so hard.” Ronnie interjected. Brandon exhaled through his nose in an act of frustration.  
  
“Then why do I feel this way?” The light from the TV glistened in Brandon’s desperate eyes which were now locked with Ronnie’s.  
  
“I…” the drummer picked his words carefully. “I think everything has happened too fast. I think you were thrown into the spotlight so suddenly that you don’t know what to do with yourself now that you’re in the shade. You went from being a bellhop to being at the Grammy’s in three years and that’s taken a toll on your health.” Brandon had gone back to staring at the TV with no emotion on his face. “You need to stop reading all those bad reviews.”  
  
Brandon stayed silent for a moment before speaking, “I need help.”  
  
“I’ve been with you since the beginning,” Ronnie leaned in and kissed Brandon’s temple. “And I’ll be with you until the end.”  
  
The couple sat together in silence for a while. Ronnie had pulled Brandon closer to him and ran his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. Brandon nuzzled into the older man’s neck and shut his eyes.  
  
“I love you,” mumbled Ronnie. He felt Brandon smile against his skin in response. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
Brandon looked up at Ronnie with a furrowed brow, “what?”  
  
“It’s-” the drummer looked at the clock that hung on the wall, “-four in the morning. December 25th. Merry Christmas.”  
  
“Oh,” Brandon said, “time has been getting away from me lately.”  
  
“Do you want your present now?” Ronnie sat up straighter. “We can sleep in and get some waffles in the morning.” Brandon pulled away from his boyfriend and nodded with a smile on his face. “Wait here.”  
  
Ronnie left the room and returned with a small object hidden in his fist. He sat next to Brandon once again and held it out to him, “I’ve had this for a while, actually.” He chuckled softly, “I forgot to give it back to you so I thought I would now.” Brandon shut his eyes and held an open palm under Ronnie’s tightly clenched fist. Ronnie dropped the item into his boyfriend’s hand after a moment and awaited his reaction.  
  
Brandon eagerly opened his eyes and looked at his gift, “oh, Ronnie.” A blue lighter sat in the singer’s hand. Brandon inspected it closer and noticed that it was full.  
  
“I refilled it before I came back. In the heat of the moment I forgot to give it back and I found it in my pocket when I was doing laundry. I know it’s not really a gift since it already belonged to you but-”  
  
“I love you.” Brandon hugged the older man tightly. “I didn’t know what to get you-”  
  
“That’s fine! I don’t need anything!” Ronnie pulled away from the hug. “Really, it’s fine-”  
  
“I did get you something, though.” Brandon stood and left the room without another word and returned with a pack of cigarettes.  
  
“I don’t understand-” Brandon shuffled closer and held the carton out to the drummer.  
  
“I don’t want this anymore.” Brandon shook his hand in Ronnie’s direction in attempt to get him to take it from him. “My gift is a promise. A real one this time.”  
  
Ronnie leaned forward and took the box from Brandon. “I think you need to go slow, Brandon. This is a gradual thing—you can’t just stop all at once. I’m proud but-”  
  
Brandon cut in, “I sound terrible, Ron.”  
  
“Did you read that somewhere?”  
  
Brandon shook his head, “that doesn’t matter. I sound terrible and I feel terrible.”  
  
“Stopping right now is just going to make you feel worse, Brandon. We need to take this slow-”  
  
“Maybe I deserve to feel worse,” the singer said. “I’ll be better one day, Ronnie. Right now I want you to get rid of those so we can go to sleep.”  
  
Ronnie knew that he was getting nowhere with the boy and sighed. “Okay.” Brandon grinned and stepped back into the hall before heading into the bedroom. Ronnie stared at the carton in his hands and contemplated what to do with it.  
  
“Are you comin’?” Ronnie heard Brandon’s tired voice call out to him from the bedroom.  
  
“On my way,” he replied. The drummer stuffed the cigarettes between two of the couch cushions and decided that he’d figure out what to do in the morning.  
  
  
“Flight one-eleven, Las Vegas to San Francisco, will be boarding in thirty minutes.”  
  
Brandon grimaced and shifted in his seat; the singer bounced his leg up and down impatiently. Ronnie noticed but decided not to say anything knowing that it was either due to nerves or the symptoms of Brandon’s newly acquired nicotine withdrawal.  
  
“So,” Dave spoke from his spot across from the singer and drummer, “what did you two do for New Years?”  
  
“Nothing much,” said Ronnie from his seat beside him. “We stayed in and watched a movie. Neapolitan ice cream was present.”  
  
“I had a headache.” The singer stated. “So I didn't want to go anywhere.”  
  
Dave nodded and gazed out the wall of windows to his left. “Yeah,” he said. “I can get behind that. I went to see some fireworks but that was it. I didn't see a point in watching a ball drop three hours early so I just stayed home with my lady.”  
  
“You have a lady?” Ronnie asked through a grin.  
  
Dave shrugged, “just because we don't get it on when everyone's watching doesn't mean that it’s not happening, Vannucci.”  
  
Ronnie snorted and shifted to look at Brandon but found the singer staring at the pristine white floor. “Is there something wrong?”  
  
Brandon exhaled through his nose and crossed his arms, “how long is the flight?”  
  
Ronnie looked at Dave for the answer. “Two hours to San Francisco,” the guitarist started. “Then we spend two hours there before leaving for Tokyo—that one’s eleven hours.”  
  
“That’s so long,” Brandon whined. Ronnie gave the man a sympathetic look.  
  
“Listen, two hours isn't that bad. Just try to relax for that one so you're not drugged up when we land and then pop two Xanax when we’re on the way to Tokyo. Out like a light!”  
  
Brandon nodded and continued to shake his leg.  
  
“Would you stop that?” Brandon looked up to the curly-haired man in confusion.  
  
“What?”  
  
Dave motioned to Brandon’s erratic leg, “that! You can't be that nervous, Brandon! Not after the last couple years!”  
  
Brandon stilled his leg and put a hand on it, “I’m sorry. It’s-It’s not all that. I’ve been having trouble sitting still lately.”  
  
“Why?” Brandon squirmed in his seat, wanting to avoid the subject.  
  
“I quit smoking.” At this point, even Mark (who had been quietly reading) looked up.  
  
Dave thought for a moment before continuing, “when?”  
  
“Almost two weeks ago.” Brandon spoke with no hesitation as if he had been counting the minutes since he had stopped and knew the number by heart.  
  
“Oh, wow,” Dave breathed. “You’re actually serious this time. Well, congratulations!”  
  
Brandon was about to reply when the loudspeaker sounded again.  
  
“Flight one-eleven, Las Vegas to San Francisco, will be boarding in fifteen minutes.”  
  
The group fell silent once again and Ronnie wished that he could hold his boyfriend without the fear of being spotted.  
  
The band arrived in Japan with no trouble (except Brandon’s flight anxiety but that was nothing new) and quickly went to find their hotel. The group decided to walk instead of calling a car for two reasons. One being that it was close enough for them to do that and the other being that the band had not yet seen many of Japan’s sights.  
  
Brandon could usually walk city streets without being noticed too much. In Vegas it was hardly a problem because everyone that knew who he was knew he was a native. Plenty of famous people lived in Las Vegas so Brandon could go to the supermarket or Waffle House without being stopped for autographs. The only people who did seemed to be tourists.  
  
He found that he was noticed more in London. Some people would see him on the street and look at him with wide eyes, some would stop and say hello. Brandon didn't really mind it—after all, if he saw his idol on the street he wouldn't want them being a dick to him. The thought reminded him that he had already met so many of his idols in the past few years but he shoved it into the back of his mind. Now wasn't a time to be overwhelmed.  
  
The singer decided that the city he was now in was strange. Nothing was wrong but something felt off—he just didn't know what. The streets were busy and full screens littered the skyscrapers, reminding the man of New York City.  
  
Brandon failed to realized that it would be cold in Tokyo—far colder than it had been in Las Vegas. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his frame in attempt to keep himself warmer. Sure, he had a jacket in his suitcase but he didn't want to go through the trouble of digging through it in the middle of the street to get it.  
  
After a moment, Ronnie put an arm around the younger man and pulled him in closer. Brandon looked at the drummer, puzzled.  
  
“What about the people-”  
  
Ronnie interrupted, “no one knows who we are.”  
  
Brandon’s eyes darted around the street and discovered what was so strange about the new land he was in: no wide eyes, no random stops on the street, no autographs. Not one person had paid any attention to him or his band in the hour that they had been there.  
  
Brandon felt normal again. He stopped the struggle he had put up against Ronnie’s arms and leaned into his boyfriend’s warm embrace without caring who saw them.  
  
Dave glanced back at the couple and offered them a soft smile. “We’ll only be here for a work week,” he spoke loudly so that they could hear him over the bustling city. “So enjoy it while you can.”  
  
“When are we shooting the video?” Ronnie asked. Brandon had nearly forgotten about that.  
  
“The day after tomorrow and the day after that.” Dave replied. “It might be more but that’s what I was told.”  
  
“Sounds terrible,” Brandon pitched. The guitarist snorted. “I’m a synth player, not an actor.”  
  
“Well, it comes with the job. Get used to it.” Brandon rolled his eyes and leaned back into his boyfriend’s warm form.  
  
Brandon yawned and wrapped himself further into his jacket. He had struggled to get up when his alarm went off at four in the morning—he would have stayed in bed all day if he could. It was cold, of course, and that had only made things worse because Ronnie was so warm. His boyfriend had always been better at getting up in the morning, though, so it wasn't too big of a surprise.  
  
It was now around five-thirty and he was still tired. His body’s clock was probably to blame for this seeing as the time difference between home and Tokyo was pretty drastic. Ronnie’s clock seemed to be doing okay, though, so it might have also been the smoking thing that made him tired.  
  
He was standing on the balcony of a tall hotel that overlooked the city. A camera crew was busy setting things up for the first shot of the day so Brandon took what little time he had to relax before he was in “music video frenzy” mode. He cast a look to his left and saw Ronnie talking to a handheld camera, probably doing something for a behind the scenes video. He eventually finished and joined Brandon by the ledge.  
  
“Sour Patch?” Ronnie held a little yellow bag out to Brandon, who gladly took one.  
  
Brandon popped the candy into his mouth. “Where did you get them?” he asked. Ronnie shrugged.  
  
“There were some sitting on the check-in desk in the lobby,” he replied. “Are you cold?”  
  
Brandon barked out a laugh, “of course I’m cold—it’s thirty degrees.”  
  
“Aw,” Ronnie wrapped an arm around Brandon and pulled him close. “We could probably find you a nice jacket at a mall or something. There’s gotta be a store around here somewhere.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Brandon assured. “It’ll get warmer as the day progresses.”  
  
“Are you sure? I can give you my jacket—it might be a little bit warmer.”  
  
“Ronnie!” Brandon grinned at his boyfriend. “I’m fine!”  
  
“Suit yourself, then.”  
  
The two fell into silence for a moment before Brandon made an observation. “Sour Patch Kids aren't even sour.” He said. “I think they’re just covered in sugar.”  
  
Ronnie looked back at the bag he held and saw that he only had one left. “There’s only one way to find out.” He took out the last candy and ate it before handing Brandon the bag.  
  
Brandon gave Ronnie a puzzled look and peered into the pouch. He shook it slightly and the white crystals in the bottom made a noise that resembled one of a maraca.  
  
“What the hell,” Brandon threw caution to the wind and downed the bag. What happened next was very anticlimactic.  
  
“It’s just sugar.” He concluded. “It’s not even special sweet sugar. It’s just-”  
  
“Special sweet sugar?” Ronnie mocked. “Isn't all sugar sweet?”  
  
Brandon groaned, “you know what I mean. Especially sweet.”  
  
“Well,” Ronnie said. “I think you’re special and sweet.” Brandon felt his frozen cheeks warm as he blushed; he chuckled and tilted his head down. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself staring off the balcony and down to the streets below. Brandon’s eyes immediately grew wide and he recoiled.  
  
Ronnie laughed at Brandon’s reaction, “are you afraid of heights now?”  
  
“No,” the singer defended. “It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”  
  
“Wow,” Ronnie shook his head with a grin, “you really must be tired.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m fucking tired,” Brandon scoffed, “I don’t know how you’ve managed to be so lively at five-thirty in the morning but it’s annoying.”  
  
Ronnie chuckled as the boy looked away from him. He was used to Brandon’s morning grumpiness by now.  
  
“Nah,” Ronnie said, glancing out at the city in front of them, “I’m not tired at all.”  
  
“That’s bullshit,” Brandon said, still facing away from Ronnie.  
  
“Don’t believe me?” Ronnie questioned, but Brandon wasn’t paying very close attention. He was too busy staring at the ground, trying to keep his eyes from closing.  
  
Ronnie started moving side to side slightly. At first, it looked like he was just trying to keep warm. But then, he started humming. The drummer peeked at his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye—still no reaction.  
  
“See?” Ronnie started full-on clapping to the beat of a tune only he could hear, “I’m not tired.” Ronnie was now dancing, moving his whole body dramatically as he clapped loudly with grin on his face.  
  
Brandon finally faced his boyfriend, and as much as he wanted to keep a straight face, he immediately broke out into a laugh. His toothy smile lingered on his face as Ronnie stopped dancing. The drummer turned his back to the camera and faced Brandon completely, “There’s the smile I was looking for.”  
  
Brandon felt himself blush as he looked at Ronnie smiling back at him. The singer peeked behind Ronnie’s back to make sure the cameramen weren’t paying attention—they weren’t. And because Ronnie was blocking Brandon out of the camera’s view, he decided they were safe. Brandon stepped closer to Ronnie and lifted himself up onto his tip-toes to place a quick peck to Ronnie’s nose. He flattened his feet again and stepped away from Ronnie, “I guess you aren’t tired.”  
  
“You kidding me?” Ronnie quirked his eyebrow, “Of course I’m tired. I was just trying to make you laugh.”  
  
Brandon hit Ronnie on the arm playfully and continued looking out at the city as it slowly came to life.  
  
It was a little over seven hours into the video shoot when Brandon felt risky. They were filming this one shot where they needed to ride bikes down a narrow road in the middle of the city. While it sounded simple enough, the band found they were being told to do the scene over and over again. They’ve done video shoots before and they were used to shooting scenes multiple times. But riding bikes down a street seemed so utterly simple and mundane there should be no reason that they’re being told to do it again.  
  
When the band waited by the cameras as the director reviewed the shot, they all sat in silent hope that they wouldn’t be asked to film it again. They weren’t that lucky, however, as the director shook his head slightly and said, “Again, boys. Sorry.”  
  
The band hid their annoyance well as they turned their bikes around and rode to their starting point for the ninth time in a row. Dave wasn’t so subtle, “This is bullshit.”  
  
The four men waited at their marks to hear the director call “action”, and when he did they all began riding as they had time and time before. Brandon wondered briefly if there was a way he could make this take go better than the last.  
  
Brandon had began singing the part that he needed to as the band pedaled their way around the corner and into the street.  
  
And for some odd reason, Brandon thought he had come up with the best idea. A smile spread across his lips as he looked ahead at the cameras while he sang. Ronnie was riding right next to him, only a few feet away. He smiled a bit wider as he carefully began to turn his bike in the direction of Ronnie’s. Ronnie, who was slightly ahead of him, had yet to notice.  
  
Until Brandon was right next to him, and before the drummer could acknowledge it, Brandon’s lips were pressed against his cheek. No one besides the two men seemed to know what happened, and the band continued with the shot.  
  
“Cut!” the director yelled as they reached the end of their designated route. The four men had stopped moving and they all sat there, waiting to be told to redo it again.  
  
Ronnie looked over at Brandon with a cheeky grin. He didn’t make a comment on it—he didn’t want to risk drawing more attention to it than necessary. But Brandon was grinning back, clearly knowing what he did, “What?”  
  
Ronnie shook his head and giggled before returning his gaze to the director, who was looking at the footage intently.  
  
“Good,” was all the director said as he nodded, “good. We can move on.” All four men cheered and then sighed in relief. They returned their bikes to their prop area, where they were finally away from crew and cameras.  
  
As Brandon parked his bike, Ronnie came up behind him, “You’re getting a little risky, aren’t you?”  
  
“It got us the right shot, didn’t it?” Brandon smiled with raised eyebrows.  
  
“You must have magic lips, Brandon Flowers,” Ronnie sighed as he leaned against the wall next to the bike rack.  
  
“I think you’d be the best judge of that, Ronnie Vannucci,” Brandon winked before starting towards their next scene with Ronnie following him.  
  
The camera crew all laughed as the beloved Gachapin mascot crawled into the small capsule bed with Ronnie. It was one of the weirder scenes of the video, but the crew assured the band that it would be a hit with the fans.  
  
And at fourteen hours into the shoot, the band just wanted to be done and asleep.  
  
Ronnie cuddled with the large mascot uncomfortably as the crew continued cackling along. The drummer had just placed his leg over Gachapin when the director yelled, “Cut!”  
  
The crew all laughed and clapped as Mark and Ronnie made their way out of the bunks. Gachapin followed Ronnie out, which brought about another round of applause. Amongst the commotion, Dave picked his head up off the pillow and blinked over and over—he was obviously napping the entire time they shot the scene.  
  
Reluctantly, the guitarist hopped out of his bunk and walked over to the rest of the band, “Are we done?”  
  
“With this scene,” Ronnie answered, “we just have the arcade footage and then we’re all done.”  
  
“Thank fucking God,” Dave rubbed his face and yawned. He looked behind him at the capsules and nudged Ronnie, “You better go take care of Sleeping Beauty over there.” Ronnie looked over to what Dave was referring to and saw his boyfriend sound asleep on a bunk at the bottom. Ronnie chuckled and made his way over to the bunks, where he kneeled down next to the sleeping singer.  
  
“Hey,” Ronnie whispered, placing a hand on Brandon’s shoulder and shaking him gently, “Brandon, wake up.”  
  
Brandon stirred in his sleep and hummed, “Mmm… Ron?”  
  
“Yeah,” Ronnie caressed Brandon’s shoulder subtly, “it’s me. You gotta get up, baby.”  
  
The singer had yet to open his eyes, but he pouted in protest, “I’m so tired.”  
  
“I know,” Ronnie looked behind him and saw the crew packing up, paying the two men no mind. He tentatively caressed Brandon’s cheek and dropped his hand, “We only have one more scene to shoot.” Brandon grumbled.  
  
“Fine,” finally opening one eye at a time, Brandon gave in. Ronnie smiled watching Brandon try to shake off his sleepiness.  
  
Brandon finally looked at Ronnie as he propped himself up on his elbows, “Good morning.”  
  
Ronnie rolled his eyes with a smirk, “Let’s go, B.”  
  
  
There was an eruption of cheers and hollers as the director finally called out, “That’s a wrap!” Even Brandon, who was practically falling asleep during the final takes, was clapping and yelling as he felt relief wash over him.  
  
Immediately, their manager called a taxi for them to take back to the hotel. While the crew packed up, Brandon found Ronnie leaning against one of the arcade machines tucked away towards the back. He slumped against the drummer with a grunt, “I cannot wait to sleep for three days straight.”  
  
“Right there with you, baby,” Ronnie sighed and put his arm around Brandon, “I don’t even think I’ll make it to the hotel.” The drummer looked over at his boyfriend and saw his eyes fighting to stay open, “But I don’t think you’re even going to make it to the taxi.”  


  
**Chapter VI: _It's Hard Enough To Live_**

  
  
“So then I said ‘maybe we should Tavian Go back to my place’.” Brandon furrowed his brows in confusion at the comment as he pushed his way through the tour bus’ door.  
  
“Then what did you do?” Ronnie acknowledged Brandon’s presence with a smile and nod but continued talking to Dave.  
  
“She splashed her drink in my face and left. That shit burns when it gets in your eyes, dude.” Dave took a sip from his bottle of water and turned his attention to Brandon, who had his head in the fridge. “Where’d you get off to, Brando?”  
  
Brandon returned from his fridge adventure with a can of Coke. “I was at an interview.”  
  
“How’d it go?” Brandon leaned against the bus wall and sighed. Dave grimaced. “Bad, then?”  
  
“It’s the same shit over and over!” Brandon exclaimed. “‘Brandon, why do you hate emos? Why do you think your album is the best in twenty years? Mr. Flowers, why are you so full of yourself?’”  
  
“I think that last one’s a little far fetched,” Ronnie said.  
  
Dave scoffed, “you should see Rolling Stone.”  
  
“I’m sick of it!” Brandon angrily popped the top of his can and took a sip. “Everyone wants to know everything about me down to the fucking brand of jeans I wear.”  
  
“Speaking of jeans,” Ronnie straightened his back against the couch he sat at. “Maybe we should go shopping for some.”  
  
Brandon raised a brow, “why?”  
  
“They just look a bit loose, that’s all.” Brandon glanced down to his pants in confusion.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
Ronnie spoke calmly, “you haven't worn those in years. I was just thinking that you might want some that fit better.”  
  
Brandon shot his boyfriend a dirty look and turned to sit at the dinette. He faced away from Ronnie and glared out the window as if the world had wronged him in some way.  
  
Dave shrugged at Ronnie, not knowing what to say to the drummer.  
  
Ronnie decided that the conversation wasn't over, though. “What’s your deal?” He asked harshly.  
  
Brandon whipped around to face his partner, “I don't have a deal! No deals here!”  
  
“You know, I saw some good deals on jeans in the Macy's catalogue the other day.” Dave chuckled at Ronnie’s comment but stopped when Brandon glared at him.  
  
“Shut up!” Brandon scowled and crossed his arms.  
  
“C’mon, baby, it’s just a joke.” Ronnie grinned at his boyfriend in attempt to cheer him up but it wasn't working.  
  
Brandon took one last swig of his drink before standing and heading out the door. Ronnie looked at Dave, confused, and went that way too. He swung open the door and called out to his boyfriend, who was steadily making his way across the parking lot.  
  
“Just leave it,” Dave said. “He’ll come back. He always does.”  
  
Brandon found himself trudging down the streets of an unknown city. He didn't really care where he ended up at the moment, he just wanted to go. He wanted to get away from everything. He was tired of nosey interviewers and TV appearances, living on the road and never having any alone time. He was tired of keeping the biggest part of his life a secret. He was tired of being tired. He needed a break.  
  
Brandon found himself stopping in front of a convenience store and decided that he deserved something—anything. He turned on his heels and entered the store with one quick push of the door.  
  
It was a modest place and like most American convenience stores it had a full junk food aisle, lottery tickets and scratchcards at the front desk, a questionable hot dog case, and a bright row of drink fridges in the back. Brandon contemplated gambling since the lottery and such wasn't offered in Nevada but he decided against it. He probably couldn't get any rewards from it anyway since he wasn't from whatever state he was in. He couldn't quite remember—he’d been touring for a while.  
  
So Brandon opted to go towards the drink fridges instead. He could get a Coca Cola—that was always an option. His eyes skimmed over teas and juices and- milk? Who stops on a long trip to get milk? Who craves milk like that?  
  
   Brandon was getting distracted.  
  
   His eyes eventually wandered to a familiar picture. It had been so long—one couldn't hurt. He would be fine. Brandon wanted to be distracted. He swiftly reached for the door and pulled it open before grabbing one of the cans of beer, not paying attention to the brand.  
  
The man at the counter asked to see his ID— Brandon thought it was weird because he was obviously over twenty-one but he obliged. When he reached into his pocket, though, he found a foreign piece of paper.  
  
“Nevada, eh?” The cashier said as he examined Brandon’s driver’s license. “That’s a long way from home.” Brandon felt like he had not been home in years.  
  
Brandon considered asking for one of the cigarette packs that were kept behind the counter but decided against it. “Where am I?” He asked as he took his ID back. The cashier gave him an odd look.  
  
“You sure you should be drinkin’?” He asked. “You’re in Columbia.” Brandon gave the man a look that told him to continue as he reached into his back pocket. “South Carolina.”  
  
“Oh,” Brandon said, retrieving the paper; the edges of it were worn with age. The cashier eyed Brandon carefully as he swiped the drink across the register’s scanner.  
  
Brandon carefully unfolded the delicate sliver of paper and was confused at what he saw. Four pictures in a row, their color’s dull and muted from being washed with his jeans years before.  
  
The cashier told Brandon the price but the singer ignored him, still absentmindedly looking at the pictures in his hand. Memories flooded back to him and his throat constricted as he drowned in them. The singer quickly snapped out of his haze and slipped the paper in his wallet before pocketing it.  
  
“I’m sorry, I-” Brandon took a breath, “I have to go.” He turned and headed for the door, ignoring the cashier’s confusion.  
  
Brandon set off for home with a determined stride.  
  
….And stepped on a landmine of awkwardness. Not that he noticed, though. He just kept going.  
  
By the time he got back to the bus there was a new occupant by the name of Brian Karscig. Brian was the singer of the band that was currently opening for The Killers on tour but he was close to the band. So he sat at one of the couches on the bus with Ronnie and Dave on the one across from him. This shouldn't have been a problem.  
  
But when Brandon storms into the bus, out of breath and mildly disheveled, it becomes a problem. Ronnie isn't a worrier, but he’ll probably worry about Brandon until the day he dies. This situation doesn't help.  
  
“Did you get mugged?” Dave asked. Brandon shook his head. “Then what the Hell are you doing?”  
  
Brandon stayed silent as he trudged to the couch and fell towards Ronnie, his head falling into the crook of the drummer’s neck. Eyes shut, Brandon mumbled a long and drawn out “I love you” which was muffled by the fabric of Ronnie’s shirt.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Brandon heard Ronnie say. He thought it was directed at him until Ronnie continued, “if you could excuse us for a moment.” The singer felt an arm around him easing him forward so Brandon opened his eyes.  
  
Brian Karscig. Eyes wide and brimming with confusion—or was it curiosity? Brandon didn't care which it was. This was a problem.  
  
The singer let himself be guided away by his boyfriend while making intense eye contact with Brian.  
  
When Ronnie and Brandon were safe in the back of the bus Brian turned to Dave. “I don't want to make any assumptions… but I think your bandmates are in a relationship.”  
  
Dave sighed, “I know.”  
  
“I fucked up-”  
  
“Brandon, it’s okay-”  
  
“I fucked it all up-”  
  
“Brandon!” Ronnie took Brandon by the shoulders and held him still. “Nothing bad is going to happen!”  
  
“How do you know? Bad things happen every day, this is just another to add to the pile-”  
  
“Will you please calm down?” Ronnie shook the singer slightly. “Brian is our friend. Now, what’s wrong?”  
  
“Other than the obvious?” Brandon was going to mention the incident at the store but stopped himself. “Why are you still holding me?”  
  
“Because I know how you are,” Ronnie let go. “Continue.”  
  
“I went to a convenience store and I was going to buy a drink but then I realized I was tearing our relationship apart by actively going against everything you’ve ever told me.”  
  
“Brandon-”  
  
“And I’m so tired of being constantly busy and it’s making me numb and I found the picture and I remembered when I was actually having fun doing all of this-”  
  
Ronnie interjected again, “what picture?”  
  
Brandon reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled the picture out of it. Seeing it again pulled at his heartstrings once more. The singer held the picture in front of his face for Ronnie to see.  
  
The drummer stared at it for the longest time before saying softly, “where did you get that?”  
  
“It was in my pocket. That was our first kiss, technically. Our first trip abroad. The first time it felt like this band was going to get somewhere.” Brandon pulled the photobooth pictures back and smiled at them.  
  
“The first time you rejected me,” Ronnie stated.  
  
Brandon snorted, “I only rejected you the one time, stupid.”  
  
Ronnie chuckled lightly but quickly sobered, “are you not having fun?”  
  
“I am!” The singer reassured, “I’m just tired. I miss my bed.”  
  
Ronnie said, “we only have a few more days of this left and then we’ll be back home in our bed.” Brandon sighed and nodded.  
  
It was at that moment that Dave stuck his head in the room, “is the band breaking up again? This is always your fault, Brandon. Get it together.”  
  
“No, that was a one-time thing.” Brandon scowled. “Is Brian still here?”  
  
“He left a few minutes ago,” Brandon sighed in relief. “He figured it out for himself, though. I still had to explain.”  
  
“What did you tell him?” Ronnie asked.  
  
Dave shrugged, “just that you two had been going at it since ‘05.  He won't tell anyone. And as an added bonus the tour will be done soon and you probably won't have to deal with him for a while after Thursday.”  
  
Brandon crossed his arms in worry, “how do you know he won't tell?”  
  
“I told him I’d cut his dick off if anyone else found out. Nobody is gonna find out about my boys but if they do they’ll have me to deal with.”  
  
Brandon sighed and hung his head in defeat. Dave continued, “he did tell me that band relationships suck and that if you two split we all might split but I said that the worst is already behind us.”  
  
“Even if that did happen,” Brandon stated. “I’m sure we’d all be professional about it.”  
  
Ronnie scoffed, “Bran, you once told me about how you dropped a class in high school because a girl didn't want to go to Prom with you.” Dave broke out in laughter upon hearing this anecdote.  
  
“C’mon,” the guitarist said. “Mark wants to meet us somewhere for lunch. I wanna hear more about this later.”  
  
The only thing that stood between Brandon and home was a six hour flight.  
  
Six hours and two pills later, the only thing that stood between his home and him was a ten minute cab ride—maybe fifteen if traffic was bad. The singer was ready to fall back on his somewhat short couch and watch some nature documentaries.  
  
And the singer did just that when he got there. Ronnie was in the kitchen putting some lunch together with what little food that had not gone bad in their absence. At one point, Brandon heard Ronnie swear from the kitchen.  
  
“The fucking sink handle came off,” Ronnie said after Brandon asked what had happened.  
  
“Now, that doesn't make sense.” Brandon retorted. The drummer scoffed and waved the metallic handle in the air.  
  
“Well it happened!” Brandon got up and went to see what the situation looked like. Ronnie was right—the sink handle had come off.  
  
“How does this happen,” Brandon said to himself as he took the handle from Ronnie to examine it. “Let’s just try to… fix this.” The singer turned to the sink and attempted to put the handle back on. After a moment it slotted back into place but was still loose. “Get the duct-tape.”  
  
Once the fiasco with the sink had been solved the couple sat at the couch together to eat.  
  
“Brandon,” Ronnie said. “This place is in shambles. How long have you lived here?  
  
Brandon crossed his arms and exhaled deeply, “since ‘01.”  
  
“Seven years. No one stays in an apartment for seven years.” Brandon faked a look of offense.  
  
“I’m a trendsetter!”  
  
“Baby,” Ronnie spoke softly, “why don't you want to move? We need a bigger place! This one is falling apart!”  
  
“So we’ll call the landlord,” Brandon propped his feet up on the coffee table. “He fixes everything.”  
  
“He doesn't know I live here—I don't think I've ever even met him.” Ronnie went to sit next to Brandon on the couch. “What’s keeping you tethered here?”  
  
Brandon wildly flung his arms around, motioning to the whole room, as he attempted to find words that would never come. “This is my home—I can't explain it.”  
  
“You know… they say ‘home is where the heart is’,” Ronnie grinned, expecting Brandon to finally agree with his plan.  
  
“Fuck that,” Brandon exclaimed. “They don't know anything about me and my heart is firmly planted here with you and everything we’ve created.”  
  
“Is that what it is? Memories?” Ronnie took Brandon’s hand and held it tightly. “I’m not trying to start a fight—I just want to help.”  
  
“It’s just-” Brandon struggled to find the right words, “this is everything! Everything happened here! You cannot deny that this is the epicenter of something far too large for us to see.”  
  
“Brandon, you're being sentimental.” Ronnie smiled, “it’s cute.”  
  
“Think of all the good that happened here! I don't wanna give that up!”  
  
“Think of the bad!” Brandon stopped in his tracks and looked around the apartment. “And you aren't giving anything up as long as you remember it.”  
  
Brandon stayed silent for a moment, “you’ll do all the heavy-lifting?”  
  
“Absolutely. I promise.”  
  
The singer sighed, “I’ll think about it.”  
  
“You already promised you would, remember? Around Christmas last year.”  Brandon looked annoyed.  
  
“How was that last year? I swear it was five minutes ago.” He sat in silence for a moment as he recalled the events Ronnie was talking about. “I was taken advantage of. There was plaster in my eye.”  
  
“That means nothing to me,” Ronnie said. “A promise is a promise. Anyways it wasn't that bad-”  
  
“I could have gone blind,” Brandon mumbled.  
  
“-and you were the one who wanted to keep going in the first place.” The drummer suddenly had an idea. “Listen, where’s your notebook?”  
  
“On the bar, probably. Why?” Ronnie retrieved the book before returning to the couch and answering Brandon.  
  
“We’re gonna make a list.” He opened to a blank page and took a pen off of the coffee table. “Dining table.” He wrote the words down on one of the lines and looked to Brandon. “Your turn.”  
  
The man thought for a moment. “Grand Piano. I love my keyboard but I hate having to go to the studio just to get an acoustic sound.”  
  
“Can we afford a Grand Piano?” Ronnie asked.  
  
Brandon shrugged, “Baby Grand, then.” The drummer nodded and added it to the list.  
  
“It needs to be private. Walled in with a gate or trees or something.” He saw the confused look on Brandon’s face and continued. “So no one finds out about us. Don't you think that would look suspicious? The both of us moving in together?”  
  
“No one cared when you moved in here.” The singer pointed out.  
  
“No one cared about the band when that happened, though. No one gave a shit what we did back then.”  
  
“I guess…” Brandon contemplated what else he should add to the list. “Carpets.”  
  
“Brandon, I love you, but no way in Hell am I letting that slide.” The singer scoffed.  
  
“You’ve never said anything about hating my carpet before!” Ronnie winced.  
  
“I’ve been living in agony for years.”  
  
Brandon motioned to the coffee table, “how am I supposed to sit on the floor to write when the floor is hard?”  
  
Ronnie stroked his mustache as he thought. “How about I buy you a rug? Can we compromise?” Brandon crossed his arms.  
  
“Fine. Can I pick out the rug?”  
  
The older man laughed, “of course, I’m not gonna buy you an ugly rug and force you to keep it.”  
  
Brandon grinned. “A green shag rug.”  
  
“You're pushing it, Flowers.”  
  
“One of those ones for kids that have roads and shit on them.”  
  
“Brandon, please-”  
  
“Astroturf.”  
  
Ronnie snorted. “Actually, I think I like it here—we can stay.” Brandon faked an upset look.  
  
“Baby, no! I’m really liking the idea of astroturf in the middle of the living room.”  
  
“No, I think we should stay. I’ll miss the… uh…” Ronnie looked around the apartment. “The fridge! I’ll miss that thing. We have to stay.”  
  
“How could I forget!” Brandon beamed and motioned to the refrigerator. “The weird noises it makes at three in the morning! How it drops ice cubes at random! Remember when you got up at midnight to eat some of my European chocolate out of my fucking chocolate stash and you slipped on an ice cube?”  
  
“I remember slipping and you being pissed because I was after your chocolate instead of helping me up. Speaking of that, what the fuck, dude? I could have died and you were yelling at me about chocolate?”  
  
“Firstly,” Brandon started. “I wasn't yelling, I was expressing how upset I was with you in a loud manner. Point number two: It was my fancy chocolate from abroad and you know I don't get that shit often. Lastly, you just slipped on some ice—you weren't gonna die.”  
  
Ronnie laughed, “I hit my head, you could at least be a little sympathetic!”  
  
“You were stealing my chocolate. Karma is a bitch, isn't it?”  
  
  
So Brandon found himself looking at houses with Ronnie and actually going to them came much too soon. The singer could be in denial about moving as long as he wanted until he had to actually step foot into the house. When the day came to pile into Ronnie’s truck and get going Brandon wasn't happy.  
  
“I think this is it,” Ronnie remarked as he turned the wheel to the right down a long driveway. Brandon sighed and slumped back in the passenger seat as far as he could. Ronnie scoffed, “Someone’s excited.”  
  
“I just-,” Brandon shook his head, “this feels wrong.”  
  
“We need to do this, Brandon,” Ronnie reached over and squeezed Brandon’s hand before returning it to the wheel, “We’ve toured the world twice. As painful as it is to leave, people who have enough money to travel the world usually don’t live in tiny, run-down apartments.”  
  
Brandon rolled his eyes, “There’s nothing wrong with being modest.”  
  
“Well,” Ronnie ignored Brandon’s comments and briefly looked around, “it’s certainly in a secure area.” Which was true—there had been a gate at the entrance of the long, palm-tree-surrounded driveway that wound and stretched far enough for the house to go unseen from the road.  
  
As Ronnie’s truck pulled up to the front of the house, he saw their realtor, Janet, waving at them by the front door. Ronnie’s hand, which was already comfortably resting outside of the driver-side window, returned the gesture with a smile.  
  
“Does she know about us?” Brandon’s pouty look of annoyance faded into an expression of slight worry. The singer had let Ronnie take care of all the house-viewing arrangements but wondered if his boyfriend remembered to consider their relationship.  
  
“No,” Ronnie cleared his throat, “I was thinking about telling her but she knew who I was when I reached out to her. I thought about looking for others that weren’t familiar with the band, but she found us some of the best options in the area.”  
  
“So,” Brandon glanced through his window at the realtor, “won’t she question why there are two of us here?”  
  
Ronnie shrugged, “I told her I was bringing you for a second opinion. Her son is apparently a big fan, so if she asks for an autograph, don’t be shocked.”  
  
Brandon just nodded and looked at his surroundings. It felt odd.  
  
After roughly half-an-hour of being toured around the four-thousand-three-hundred square foot house, their realtor smiled at the couple as the three of them stood in the foyer, “Now that you’ve seen the place inside and out, what are your thoughts?”  
  
“Uh,” Ronnie thought for a moment and looked over at Brandon. He felt bad—he knew Brandon should have just as much of a say in this decision as he did, but to Janet it would seem odd for the singer to contribute much to the conversation. “If you don’t mind, could we take a look around alone?”  
  
“Of course!” Janet smiled at them, “I’ll be just outside the front door when you’re ready to talk.”  
  
Once the couple was alone, Brandon turned to Ronnie and held his hand, “This is weird.”  
  
“I know,” Ronnie smirked nervously, “we’re like… buying a house together. That’s really happening.”  
  
“And it’s big! It’s so big.” Brandon sighed and looked around.  
  
“But this isn’t the final choice,” Ronnie squeezed Brandon’s hand, “this is only the first house. She found at least a dozen houses that look great for us.”  
  
“Thinking about going to that many houses exhausts me,” Brandon pouted.  
  
“Hey, hey,” Ronnie placed his hands on Brandon’s shoulders, “don’t worry about that. C’mon, let’s just focus on this house. What did you like about it?”  
  
“Uh,” Brandon looked around and furrowed his eyebrows, “I-I don’t know.”  
  
“Brandon-”  
  
“I’m sorry!” Brandon defended, “this is just so odd for me. I can’t really- I don’t know I just can’t really think of anything.”  
  
“Okay,” Ronnie spoke slowly, “then what didn’t you like about the house?”  
  
“Didn’t like?” Brandon repeated as Ronnie nodded, “well, it’s too big.”  
  
“I agree,” Ronnie said reassuringly, trying to keep Brandon from getting freaked out, “we need more space but not this much.”  
  
“Yeah,” Brandon nodded, “and I don’t like that the only way to get to our bedroom is through the kitchen.”  
  
“Oh,” Ronnie looked confused, “I didn’t even notice that!”  
  
Brandon chuckled, “Yeah. It was so weird.”  
  
After talking for a few more minutes, the couple walked outside and talked to the realtor. They decided they’d keep this house on the list of possibilities, but they’d resume the search the next day at noon.  
  
Brandon absolutely dreaded the idea of going.  
  
The next day, after looking at the second option, Brandon groaned as soon as he got into the car. He held his head in his hands, “I hate doing this.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Ronnie rubbed the singer’s back, “she wanted us to look at two other places today but I told her we had a band meeting to get to.”  
  
“Thanks,” Brandon scoffed and lifted his head from his hands, “Look, I know we have to leave the apartment but just looking at all these new houses made me realize how much I consider that place my home, you know?”  
  
“I know, and it sucks,” Ronnie leaned over and placed a kiss to Brandon’s temple, “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay, I’ll get over it,” Brandon looked at Ronnie softly, “but for tonight can we just go back to the apartment and lay in my shitty bed?”  
  
“Of course,” Ronnie chuckled, “I love that shitty bed.”  
  
“So, do you think this is the one?”  
  
The couple sat on the front steps of the third house Janet had selected for them. It was a three-thousand-three-hundred square foot Coastal style home. There were four bedrooms and three full bathrooms fit into two stories. There was an inground pool in the back, and the patio beside it led to the sliding door of the beautiful master bedroom. There was a nice loft area that grabbed the singer’s attention as soon as he saw it. Along with the walk-in closet that could hold Brandon’s entire wardrobe and more.  
  
It actually frustrated Brandon that he couldn’t find something to complain about.  
  
“I mean,” Brandon finally responded, “I do really like it.”  
  
“I do, too,” Ronnie smiled at him, “I really love this place.”  
  
Janet had let the couple talk it out while she took a call inside the house. They were both just waiting to go in and tell her that this house was the one. But it seemed like the thought intimidated the both of them.  
  
“Are we doing this?” Brandon finally said.  
  
“Yeah,” Ronnie looked at his boyfriend with soft eyes. For a brief moment, he imagined living a life with the boy in the very house they were sitting in front of. A house that they would share together. It almost overwhelmed him, “I guess we are.”  
  
  
“Brandon, you have to pack.” Ronnie sighed, hands on his hips. His boyfriend was currently face down on the bed, groaning. “We’re leaving in like… less than a week and you have yet to do anything except sadly wrap the wine glasses in packing paper.”  
  
“I’ll get to it eventually,” Brandon’s voice was muted by his pillow. Ronnie sighed again.  
  
“We don't have a lot of time, B.” Ronnie looked at the dresser to his left. “How ‘bout I do the dresser and you work on the closet?” Brandon groaned again but looked at the drummer after a moment.  
  
“....Fine.” The singer sat up and Ronnie beamed at the boy. The drummer disappeared to get boxes and came back to find Brandon sitting in the same spot.  
  
So they went on like that. Brandon silently trying to make sense of the closet’s mess and Ronnie going through dresser drawers. At the bottom of one of said drawers, Ronnie made a discovery.  
  
“What’s this?” The drummer held up a single stud earring with a pink gemstone. Brandon craned his neck to see the tiny item his boyfriend held. “Did a lady of yours leave this here?”  
  
Brandon came in closer to examine it and smiled. “No,” he said. “That’s mine.”  
   
Ronnie looked back and forth between the stud and his boyfriend. After a few seconds of silence he said, “No, it’s not.”  
  
   Brandon made a noise bewilderment and waved his arms wildly, “it is!”  
  
   “Why have you withheld this information from me? Put it in.” Ronnie demanded proof and held it out for Brandon to take.  
  
  
“I think the hole closed up.” The singer took the stud and went to the bathroom; Ronnie followed behind quickly. “I’m gonna hurt myself doing this.”  
   
Brandon hopped up on the vanity and scooted backwards, his back to the mirror. He twisted his body around so he could see his reflection and fingered his earlobe, trying to find the hole.  
  
   “I want you to know that this is the hottest thing you’ve ever done.” Ronnie said from the doorway. Brandon chuckled and looked at his boyfriend through the mirror, smiling with his eyes.  
  
“I don't think I’ll be able to get it in,” Brandon looked back to his ear in the mirror.  
  
“That’s never stopped us before,” Ronnie whined. Brandon barked out a laugh. “The only thing that could possibly make this any better is if you looked the way you did in 2004. December, specifically.”  
  
“Did you just call me ugly to my face?” Brandon looked at Ronnie again. “I'm trying to tear a hole in my ear and you tell me I’m ugly?”  
  
“No!” Ronnie defended. “I’m just saying… you were very pretty back then. Your hair-”  
  
“The fucking hair, Ron, let it go.” Brandon smiled through his rude humor.  
  
“You’re still pretty now but… back then? You were pretty.”  
  
“Pretty? I’ll show you pretty. I'll be so pretty that even the straightest man would take me out and treat me right.” Brandon sighed and let his arms fall to his sides. He turned back around and said, “it’s not going in.”  
  
“That’s okay,” Ronnie said. “You’re still pretty.”  
  
Brandon smiled and looked down at the linoleum bathroom floor but there was a hint of sadness in the action. “Do you not mind living here after I’ve had so many others before you?” Ronnie was confused at the sudden change in subject. “You asked if it was a woman’s but you didn't seem to care about it.”  
  
“Brandon,” Ronnie stepped into the small bathroom and stood across from the boy sitting on the counter. “First of all, I don't think it was that many people. You aren't like that. Secondly, that was in the past. That doesn’t concern me one bit because we’re in the present.”  
  
“I just thought… maybe you wanted to leave so bad because of it.” Brandon avoided eye contact and Ronnie’s heart broke a little bit.  
  
“Baby, no,” the drummer said softly. “I want to leave because the damn place is falling apart!” He laughed a little as he spoke to lighten the mood.  
  
“So you don't care?”  
  
“You don't care about my past love life so why would I care about yours? I love you, okay? I’m gonna order us something for dinner—sit tight.”  
  
“I love you too.” Ronnie leaned forward and gave Brandon a quick kiss on the lips before leaving. The singer looked at the pink jewel that was still in his hand before turning back and looking in the mirror. He stroked his stubble and contemplated getting a new look.  
  
From the kitchen he heard Ronnie yell for him to come look at some takeout menus. Brandon hopped off the vanity and and went to join his boyfriend. That was something he’d worry about later.  
  
Brandon stood in the center of his livingroom and surveyed his surroundings. It was bare save for a few pieces of furniture which belonged to the landlord. His boyfriend was outside putting the last boxes in his truck at the moment, so Brandon was alone with his thoughts. Most of their stuff had already been taken to the new house by Ronnie (Brandon was still in denial) but this was the last true day in the apartment.  
  
Suddenly, the front door opened and Ronnie returned, making the singer jump. “Ready?” He asked. Brandon fidgeted his and Ronnie’s keys, now on the same keyring.  
  
“I guess…” Ronnie pushed the door open further for Brandon and the younger man reluctantly exited. He took one last good look around before pulling the door shut and locking it.  
  
“Do you want me to take the keys?” Ronnie asked after a moment of silence. Brandon sighed and leaned back against the walkway’s railing.  
  
“No,” he said. “My name is on the lease. I’ll do it.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to walk down the stairs.  
  
“I’ll wait in the car, then.” Ronnie said.  
  
Once on the main level the two parted ways. From his truck the drummer watched Brandon talk to an attendant in the office. He didn't quite understand the boy’s apprehension towards moving—it wasn't like this was his childhood home. Ronnie stayed quiet about it though, not wanting to upset Brandon further.  
  
Ronnie eventually saw Brandon turn in his keys and give the woman at the desk a fake smile before heading for the door. It was at that moment Ronnie got an idea. Maybe a new companion would help Brandon adjust to his new life. Ronnie filed that thought away to save for Brandon’s birthday later that month. For the time being, though, the drummer just wanted to get settled into his new home.  
  
  
“I think that’s it for the boxes going upstairs,” Ronnie walked down the spiral staircase with a sigh, “it’s late, so we can just unpack tomorrow I guess.” He made his way off the stairs and towards the dining room, “You hear me, B?” The drummer turned the corner of the small dividing wall and was greeted by Brandon leaning against the new dining room table, arms crossed and staring at the ground, “Brandon?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“I said,” Ronnie walked over to his boyfriend slowly, “I got all the upstairs boxes moved up there and we can just unpack tomorrow. The bed is set up already, so we won’t need much unpacked tonight.”  
  
“Okay,” Brandon smiled half-heartedly. Once Ronnie was close enough, the singer wrapped his arms around him and sighed against Ronnie’s chest, “thank you for carrying all the stuff I didn’t want to.”  
  
“No problem,” Ronnie chuckled and squeezed Brandon in his arms, “are you okay?”  
  
“I will be,” Brandon mumbled, “I just need time to adjust.”  
  
Ronnie kissed the top of Brandon’s head, “Take all the time you need, baby.”  
  
The couple stood there for a few minutes, holding each other while Ronnie rubbed Brandon’s back gently. They had been so busy for the past few days with moving preparations that they both forgot what the move really meant—their future together would continue in this house. And as they both stood there, wrapped in each other's’ arms, they seemed to realize how significant their change in housing really was.  
  
“I’m gonna need some time to adjust, too,” Ronnie eventually broke the silence, “especially to that massive shower.”  
  
Brandon laughed loudly, “It’s so big!”  
  
“I know!” Ronnie exclaimed, “The first time I saw it I thought it was an indoor pool. I was like ‘Oh, cool!’”  
  
Brandon pulled his head away from Ronnie’s chest but kept his arms around him, laughter crinkling his eyes and widening his smile. When he stopped laughing, a smile still lingered on his face, “I love you.”  
  
“Love you, too,” Ronnie quirked an eyebrow, “what’d you say that for?”  
  
Brandon shrugged, “You make me laugh.”  
  
“You must be tired,” Ronnie smirked.  
  
“Not really,” Brandon looked smug, “I just like complimenting you.”  
  
“Well, keep ‘em coming.”  
  
“Your beard looks amazing,” Brandon brought his hand up to stroke Ronnie’s facial hair.  
  
“Really?” Ronnie looked confused, “I didn’t know if you’d like it. I’ve just been too lazy to shave.” For the past week or so Ronnie had been sporting a full beard, which was much different to his original clean-shaven look or the Fu Manchu moustache he has been sporting throughout their previous tour.  
  
“It looks so good with your hair now that it’s longer,” Brandon smiled and brought his hand to the back of Ronnie’s head, “you look so handsome.”  
  
“I can’t tell if you’re just being nice or if you’re trying to get laid,” Ronnie noted with a smile.  
  
“A little bit of both,” the singer chuckled and wrapped his arms around Ronnie’s neck.  
  
“Do you think we fuck a lot? Not that I’m complaining, I just think we fuck a lot.”  
  
“Well, I guess,” Brandon rolled his eyes, “we just haven’t been alone, and not tired, around each other in a long time.”  
  
“Just because you’re not tired doesn’t mean I’m not!” Ronnie defended, “I had to carry everything up the stairs.”  
  
“If you’re tired then we don’t have have to fuck, I was just implying that I’d like to,” Brandon responded.  
  
“Hey now,” Ronnie smirked, “I never said I didn’t want to.”  
  
Ronnie suddenly propped the singer on the table, making the younger man giggle. Brandon soon connected their lips together. He spoke against Ronnie’s mouth, “Right on the new table?”  
  
“What better way to break it in?”  
  
Brandon giggled briefly before returning to the kiss. Ronnie’s hands slid up to Brandon’s chest and pulled away from the kiss, “Lay down.”  
  
The singer smirked as he followed Ronnie’s instruction and laid down on the smooth wood of the dining table. His sweatshirt rode up slightly as he did so, revealing his hipbones with sweatpants dangling just below them. Ronnie glanced down at the sliver of pale skin of Brandon’s hips, divided by a faint trail of brown hair that disappeared into his pants.  
  
Ronnie hooked his fingers under the waistband of both Brandon’s sweatpants and boxer briefs and pulled them down to his knees. Brandon blushed as Ronnie looked up and down his body. The drummer smiled and took Brandon into his hand, making the singer gasp softly, “This new table is going to regret ever coming into this home.”  
  
Brandon laughed, which soon turned into a breathy sigh as he focused on Ronnie’s hand working on him. Ronnie pushed the hem of Brandon’s sweatshirt up with his free hand and placed a kiss just below his navel. The drummer felt Brandon’s stomach tense at the touch and he smiled against Brandon’s skin.  
  
“You know,” Ronnie said as he pulled away, “I’ve never sucked anyone off while standing up before-” Brandon let out a laugh, “but I’m not opposed to it.”  
Brandon was still giggling even as Ronnie leaned down towards his shaft. The laughter stopped, however, as soon as Ronnie slid Brandon’s tip between his lips.  
  
“Mmmh,” Brandon hummed sweetly as one of his hands found the back of Ronnie’s head. He curled a piece of Ronnie’s hair around his finger and whined, “fuck.”  
  
Ronnie’s lips moved further down Brandon’s length as he took him in deeper. Brandon bit his lip and fought the urge to buck his hips up into Ronnie’s mouth. The drummer moved his gaze to meet Brandon’s and the younger man moaned breathily as they made eye contact.  
  
Both of Brandon’s hands were soon holding the side of Ronnie’s head as he guided Ronnie’s mouth on him. Each movement elicited an approving sound from Brandon as Ronnie’s tongue was pressed flat along the underside of Brandon’s dick. With every drag of Ronnie’s tongue, Brandon felt his whole body heating up in response.  
  
Ronnie hollowed out his cheeks and slowly pulled his lips up Brandon’s length, making the singer’s head tip back in a whine. Ronnie rolled his tongue around Brandon’s tip and watched the younger boy’s face contort in a whine, “Ron!”  
  
The drummer was motivated by the sounds coming out of Brandon as he moaned around the younger man and watched him buck his hips involuntarily into his mouth. Ronnie’s hands rested on Brandon’s hips and gently pushed them back down to the table. He ran his palms over the singer’s hipbones and thighs, and Brandon found his legs wrapping around Ronnie’s frame loosely. Ronnie pulled off of Brandon with a rather obscene sound and caught his breath for a moment. He smiled at Brandon and the singer let out a little laugh.  
  
“God bless that beard,” Brandon chuckled, and the drummer went to take his boyfriend back into his mouth. But he was stopped, “No, no. I’m gonna come if you keep going.”  
  
“That’s the whole point, baby,” Ronnie joked in a slightly hoarse voice.  
  
“I know but,” Brandon whined and stroked Ronnie’s hair endearingly, “I don’t want to come like this.”  
  
Ronnie sighed as Brandon bit his bottom lip in a smirk, “I’ll go get the stuff.”  
  
The older man walked the few feet to their bedroom, grabbed what he needed (from a box that was yet to be unpacked), and headed back to the dining room.  
  
“Wow,” Ronnie said upon seeing his boyfriend again, “you really did want this.” Brandon had bent himself over the dining room table and continued stroking himself during Ronnie’s short absence. His cheek was pressed to the table as he smiled at his boyfriend coming closer to him.  
  
Ronnie unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down once he was behind Brandon. He placed the condom he had grabbed beside Brandon on the table while he coated his fingers with the lube. Brandon impatiently wriggled beneath him, biting his lip in anticipation. Until Ronnie finally slipped a finger inside and Brandon hummed pleasantly beneath him.  
  
By the time Ronnie had the third finger thrusting in and out of Brandon, the younger man was mewling under the drummer as he rocked back on his fingers. But Ronnie was distracted.  
  
“You have such a cute butt,” Ronnie commented, “did you know that?”  
  
“Uh,” Brandon panted, “thanks? I never thought it was anything special.”  
  
“Well, it’s just… cute, you know?” Ronnie nodded, although Brandon couldn’t see him, “Perky.”  
  
Brandon blushed and turned his head as much as he could in an attempt to look at Ronnie, “Well, why don’t you just get in it already?”  
  
“God,” Ronnie faked annoyance, “you’re so needy!”  
  
After a few more moments, Ronnie had the condom rolled onto him and was positioned at Brandon’s entrance. Once he pushed himself in, Brandon whined beneath him as he threw his head back slightly. His palms flattened in front of him on the table and Ronnie watched as his fingers trembled.  
  
Ronnie started a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out of Brandon fast but not too hard. He didn’t think the table was too comfy to begin with, let alone having to deal with being pounded into it. But judging by the sounds Brandon was making, he didn’t seem too bothered.  
  
“Y-yes!” Brandon now had one hand working on himself beneath the table as the other reached behind him to hold the back of Ronnie’s thighs, guiding his movements.  
  
“Wait, wait,” Ronnie panted. He gently pulled at Brandon’s shoulders until the younger man understood and stood up. Ronnie was still inside of him as the singer bent his knee and propped it on the table, giving Ronnie better a better angle. This new position also gave Ronnie access to Brandon’s neck, where he began leaving scratchy kisses on the smooth skin there. One of Brandon’s hands reached to the back of Ronnie’s head and held onto his hair, moaning at the feeling of Ronnie’s mouth on his neck.  
  
One of Ronnie’s hands was reaching underneath Brandon’s bent thigh, holding it open wider. His other hand, at first, was placed on Brandon’s chest. It slowly moved down to Brandon’s stomach before batting Brandon’s hand out of the way and stroking him on his own.  
  
“Ron! Fuck, oh-” Brandon’s plea was interrupted as Ronnie connected their lips. Brandon whined against the drummer’s mouth when he felt Ronnie picking up the speed of his thrusts. Brandon put his hand over where Ronnie was stroking him, a sign telling Ronnie to go faster.  
  
Ronnie pulled away from Brandon’s lips to catch his breath, resting his open lips against Brandon’s rosy cheek, “You’re so beautiful.”  
  
The singer only whined in response. Ronnie recognized the lack of words now as a sign that Brandon was close.  
  
Brandon’s cries became more consistent and higher pitched as they continued falling out of his mouth. It didn’t take long until his body suddenly tensed up and, with a jolt, he came on the table and over Ronnie’s hand. Brandon whined repeatedly as Ronnie stroked him slowly down from his high.  
  
“This poor table,” Ronnie muttered into Brandon’s ear, making the singer chuckle breathlessly.  
  
Ronnie still needed to finish, but thrusting into Brandon now only made the singer quake from being overly stimulated.  
  
“Bend over again,” the drummer whispered. Brandon compiled, carefully avoiding the small mess he’d made on the table. Ronnie pulled out of him in the process and he heard Brandon sigh in response.  
  
Ronnie pushed Brandon’s sweatshirt out of the way as he removed the condom he had on and placed it on the table. He continued working at himself as he positioned himself over Brandon’s ass.  
  
“Brandon, oh fuck,” Ronnie ended his statement with a deep groan as he released over Brandon’s ass. The younger man gasped when he felt it on him. He didn’t know that people, or Ronnie for that matter, did that in real life.  
  
“Holy shit,” Brandon panted, “did you jus-”  
  
“Y-yeah… I-”  
  
“That’s so fucking hot,” Brandon craned his neck off the table to try and look at his boyfriend, “I love you. Kiss me.”  
  
Ronnie had a smile on his face when he connected his lips to Brandon’s. He pulled away after a moment or so, “Love you, too.”  
  
“Since this is your mess, can you clean it up?” Brandon raised and rested his hands defeatedly, “I’m kinda stuck here ‘til you do.”  
  
“Well,” Ronnie began pulling his own pants up, “I don’t think we unpacked the paper towels yet, so.”  
  
“Ronnie!” Brandon whined.  
  
“I’m kidding! Just kidding!”  
  
After ten minutes or so, the couple headed to the bedroom. The singer wasted no time flinging himself onto the bed once they entered the room. He buried his head into the pillows and laid spread eagle with a dramatic sigh, “Finally!”  
  
“Oh,” Ronnie said as he flopped next to him, “so now you’re tired?” The drummer playfully smacked Brandon’s ass, making him groan.  
  
“I’m still sore, jerk,” Brandon joked as he flipped over onto his back like Ronnie, “and yes now I’m tired.” Brandon stripped his sweatshirt off, “It’s fucking hot in here.”  
  
“The ACs are in the garage,” Ronnie mumbled with his eyes closed, barely awake, “I’ll put them in tomorrow.” Brandon curled up next to Ronnie and sighed. Ronnie was just about dozing off when he spoke up, “If you’re too hot we don’t need to cuddle.”  
  
“It wouldn’t feel like home if we didn’t.”  
  
Ronnie kissed Brandon’s forehead and rested his chin on top of Brandon’s head, “I love you.”  
  
“You’re such a softie,” Brandon mumbled against Ronnie’s chest.  
  
“Good night, B.”  
  
“Good night, softie.”

  
  
**Chapter VII: _You Have One Saved Message_**

 

  
  
“Brandon, wake up,” Brandon heard a voice say as he felt a hand gently shaking his shoulder, “It’s your birthday, baby, wake up!”  
  
Brandon groaned and buried his head further into the pillow, “It’s my birthday let me sleep.”  
  
“I have your present ready,” Ronnie kissed Brandon’s cheek, “come check it out.”  
  
“What time is it?” Brandon ignored Ronnie’s invitation and opened one eye, trying to catch a glimpse of his bedside clock, but only being met with a smiling Ronnie hovering over him. Even Brandon, in his daze of morning sleepiness, felt a small smirk spread across his lips.  
  
“It’s like 8:30,” Ronnie didn’t bother looking away from Brandon to catch a glimpse at the clock when he answered.  
  
“Ugh,” Brandon groaned, “why wouldn’t you let me sleep in on my birthday? I’m breaking up with you.”  
  
“Because,” Ronnie dragged out the word with a smile still on his face, “your gift is worth getting up early for. Trust me.” Brandon raised an eyebrow in question, and Ronnie chuckled before defending himself, “I’m serious.”  
  
Brandon rolled his eyes and clung to his sheets, “I don’t want to leave.”  
  
“Look,” Ronnie ran his hand through Brandon’s hair, “I know you hate your birthday, but I promise you’ll love this. I’m trying to make your day better, B.”  
  
“Sometimes,” Brandon shook his head, “you make it so hard to be annoyed with you.” Ronnie smiled and Brandon returned the gesture, “Help me up.”  
  
“You’re only twenty-six,” Ronnie chuckled as he stood up from the bed and gripped onto Brandon’s wrists, pulling him upward, “stop acting like you’re ancient.”  
  
“Ah!” Brandon exclaimed through a laugh, “my aching wrists!”  
  
Once Brandon was up and out of bed, Ronnie turned him around and faced him towards the door. He put his hands over the singer’s eyes and spoke close to his ear, “Walk, we‘re just going out to the living room.” Brandon giggled and cautiously started walking forward.  
  
The couple reached the living room and Ronnie guided Brandon in front of the couch. Brandon heard some movement that he couldn’t exactly identify, but his confusion didn’t last much longer though.  
  
“Okay,” Ronnie was speaking through an obvious smile, “happy birthday.”  
  
The drummer removed his hands from Brandon’s eyes and what Brandon saw quite literally brought tears to his eyes. The most beautiful puppy was sitting on the couch, chewing on a toy.  
  
The puppy was a husky. She had snow-white fur that was so fluffy she truly looked like a cloud. Her eyes looked like nothing Brandon had ever seen on a dog before—the brightest and prettiest light blue he had ever seen. She already seemed immaculately well-behaved, as she remained on the couch even when the couple entered the room. And to top it all off, Ronnie had tied a red ribbon around her collar, making her look like the gift she was.  
  
“Oh my God!” Brandon exclaimed and immediately knelt by her on the couch, “Hi, sweetie!” The puppy started licking Brandon’s face excitedly and the singer actually felt like crying happy tears.  
  
“Isn’t she cute?!” Ronnie asked before joining Brandon on the floor by the couch.  
  
“She’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” the puppy was still licking Brandon’s face as he took her into his arms and held her close to him, “thank you so much.”  
  
“I figured she’d add a little more presence to this massive house so that we didn’t feel so alone,” Ronnie commented as he pet the dog’s soft fur.  
  
“What’s her name?” Brandon questioned.  
  
Ronnie shrugged, “Whatever you like. This is your birthday present.”  
  
“I love you,” Brandon leaned over and kissed Ronnie softly before pulling away, “I love you so, so much.”  
  
“Love you, too,” Ronnie answered. Nikita suddenly barked and started licking Brandon again, “I guess she loves you, too!”  
  
Brandon pouted affectionately and looked at the puppy before kissing her on the head, “I love you, too, Nikita.”  
  
“Nikita?” Ronnie smirked, “Is that the name you decided on?”  
  
“I like it, do you?” Brandon looked at Ronnie while stroking Nikita’s fur.  
  
“If you like it, I love it,” Ronnie put on his best baby-talk voice and leaned his face down to the puppy’s, “Welcome to the family, Nikita!” Brandon’s heart swelled when he heard Ronnie refer to the three of them as a “family”.  
  
“And,” Ronnie continued, “happy birthday, Brandon.”  
  
“Nikita!” Ronnie shouted, “Slow down!”  
  
“You know,” Brandon said as he sipped an iced tea, “we haven’t taught her how to understand English quite yet.”  
  
“She’s going to pull my damn arm off,” Ronnie sighed as the dog lunged at the sight of a squirrel. The couple had decided to take a walk in a nearby park with Nikita that morning. The lunchtime picnic rush of people hadn’t stormed the area yet, so for the most part it was pretty peaceful. Besides the puppy’s over enthusiastic attitude towards the outdoors that caused Ronnie to be pulled in whatever direction she wanted.  
  
“Let me walk her,” Brandon said as he motioned for the leash, “she likes me more.” Ronnie wanted to disagree, but it was true. He handed over the puppy to Brandon and the singer beamed, “Hey, pretty girl!” Nikita wagged her tail happily and continued walking.  
  
“Jesus,” Ronnie massaged his aching shoulder, “she’s already behaving better with you.”  
  
“I’ve taught her well,” Brandon winked, earning a shove from Ronnie.  
  
“Well, I’m the one that brought her home,” Ronnie pointed to himself, “so she should treat me with some more respect.”  
  
“You’ll get the respect from her that you deserve,” Brandon went to take a sip from his straw but the cup was taken out of his hand. Ronnie took a sip instead and handed it back. Brandon faked disgust as he examined the cup, “you’ve diseased my straw with your germs.”  
  
“You weren’t too worried about my germs last night when y-”  
  
“Shh,” Brandon laughed and nudged Ronnie before motioning to the dog, “not in front of the kids.” Ronnie chuckled in response, but his expression saddened briefly after. The drummer wished he could wrap his arm around Brandon, but there were too many wandering eyes around them. They were just lucky no interested fan had come up to them yet.  
  
“Oh,” Ronnie suddenly remembered something that brought him out of his thoughts, “Dave called me this morning while you were still asleep. He said he was hoping to get in the studio within the next few days. He had some ideas on how to remaster the old tracks and stuff.”  
  
“Okay,” Brandon nodded, “we can call him when we get back to the house and work something out.”  
  
There was a comfortable silence between them for a moment before Brandon spoke up, “Hey, do you think Dave still has the same home phone?”  
  
“Uh,” Ronnie quirked an eyebrow in confusion, “I mean probably. Unless he had a reason to get a new one.” He was going to let the question be, but he couldn’t help himself, “Why?”  
  
“I have this idea,” Brandon began. His eyes were seemingly avoiding Ronnie as he spoke softly. Ronnie had noticed that this was a common thing for him to do whenever he felt unsure, “if you aren’t comfortable with it we don’t have to do it, but I think it’d be really unique.”  
  
“Well, pitch it to me.”  
  
“You know those voicemails I left on his answering machine? When we were… you know.”  
  
Ronnie felt a slight pang in his chest—of course he remembered, “Yeah, yeah I remember those.”  
  
“Well, I thought it’d be cool if we incorporated the one where I’m singing your song into a track on the new album.” Before Ronnie could say anything, Brandon already began defending himself, “I’ve had some possible lyrics in my head recently that I thought could work with your bit of the song. Only if you’re comfortable with us using it, of course.”  
  
“So,” Ronnie felt a small smile forming on his lips, “you want to strip the exact voicemail from Dave’s machine and use that in the song.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah!” Brandon felt a little more confident now that Ronnie sounded interested, “I was thinking it could be like the intro. And maybe it could fade into a drum fill or guitar riff before we all come in at once.” Brandon shook his head, “It’ll make more sense once we’re all together in the studio but I think it could be really cool.”  
  
“I love it,” Ronnie smiled, “I do.”  
  
“And,” Brandon spoke a little quieter, “on a more personal level, it could turn a really dark time for us into something a little less… dreadful.”  
  
Ronnie snickered, “Yeah, that was a pretty dreadful time.”  
  
“So, you’re fine with us using your song?” Brandon asked, looking for assurance, “We can totally give you a writing credit.”  
  
“We can just say we all took part in it,” Ronnie shrugged, “it’s only a few lines.”  
  
“Yeah, but they’re good lines, Ronnie!” Brandon emphasized, “Just because I’m singing them doesn’t mean you don’t deserve credit for thinking of them.”  
  
“We’ll talk about it when the time comes,” Ronnie finalized, “but for now, we should get back home. It’s getting too hot for Nikita, and we need to ask Dave about his answering machine.”  
  
Ronnie emerged from the stairs into the loft wearing clean clothes and rubbing his damp hair with a towel. He spotted his boyfriend and scoffed, “I was looking everywhere for you.”  
  
“Well, you sure found me,” Brandon was sitting on the small couch they had brought from the apartment. The singer couldn’t bare to part with it, but he agreed with Ronnie when he pointed out that it’d look awkward in the spacious living room. So now it lived in the loft upstairs where Brandon often sat on it to write—just like he was doing now. He wasn’t exactly sitting on it, though. His legs were hanging off the back of the couch while his head was on the seat. He was, simply put, comfortably upside down.  
  
He wasn’t alone, though, as Nikita was curled up in a ball sleeping next to where he was writing.  
  
“Doesn’t laying like that hurt your head?” Ronnie asked, making his way over to the couch.  
  
Brandon shrugged and shook his head, “Not as much as you might think.”  
  
“What’re you writing?” Ronnie tried to peek at the notebook in Brandon’s hand before sitting down next to him but he couldn’t make anything out.  
  
“Just jotting down some ideas,” the singer sighed, “I have a song name in mind.”  
  
“Well, what is it?”  
  
“It’s called Who Let You Go?”  
  
“Oh,” Ronnie nodded with a look of fake wonder, “fascinating.”  
  
“It’s based off another song you sang to me once,” Brandon’s eyes were squinted slightly in thought, “I can only remember the first line of it though… “ The younger man took a small breath before singing softly, “Someone must’ve loved you, not the way that I do.”  
  
“You’re missing what I’m tryna say,” Ronnie grinned, “ain’t nothin’ getting in my way.”  
  
“That’s the rest of it!” Brandon exclaimed and scribbled the lines on the page.  
  
“I mean, it is my song. I hope I’d remember the lyrics to my own song,” Ronnie scoffed, “I guess you just love using my ideas.”  
  
“Stop being so talented and maybe I won’t take them from you,” Brandon turned his head and gave Ronnie a quick peck on the cheek, “just kidding, we still have time to work out the song credits and stuff.”  
  
“Speaking of time, when do we leave for New York to do the Tranquilize shoot?” The band was scheduled to film the music video for their new single soon, and Ronnie was somewhat eager to get out of the town again. That was something he and Brandon would never agree upon. Ronnie seemed to be a natural-born traveler. Brandon just loved his bed.  
  
“Next monday,” Brandon felt an involuntary pout form on his lips. A trip to New York meant five-and-a-half hours on a plane, “I called in my prescription for the plane ride. If you go out later, can you grab it please?”  
  
“Well,” Ronnie grinned, “maybe we can both go out. For dinner… ,” Ronnie sighed, “I don’t want to cook.”  
  
“Where were you thinking?” The younger man turned his head and looked at Ronnie who was biting his bottom lip in a smile.  
  
“I’ll give you a hint,” Ronnie began, “it’s open twenty-four hours a day all year an-”  
  
“Waffle House?!” Brandon exclaimed, “We haven’t been in so long!”  
  
“Exactly!” Ronnie laughed, “God, you really do love that place.”  
  
Brandon hopped off the couch and made his way towards the stairs. Nikita barked and followed him eagerly, “I’ll be ready to go in, like, five minutes!”  
  
Ronnie shook his head as he watched his boyfriend practically catapult himself down the stairs with his dog close behind him. There was no one quite like him.  
  
“So,” Dave said, leaning back in one of the studio’s chairs, “what do we need to work on tomorrow?” The guitarist was pretty occupied throwing a rubber ball in the air. For the past half an hour, he seemed more interested in bouncing it all over the studio and tossing it in his hands than he was in doing in any actual work.  
  
“Uh,” Mark muttered before taking a glimpse at the whiteboard next to him, “we mainly need to mix Daddy’s Eyes and re-record the guitar for Move Away.” The quiet man turned back to the rest of his band, “then we just need to work on finishing touches, really.”  
  
Brandon, who was lying on the studio’s couch with his head in Ronnie’s lap suddenly spoke up, “When are we expecting to release it?”  
  
“November 9th,” Ronnie answered, “we have time.”  
  
“Well, for recording yeah,” Brandon responded in a slightly nervous tone, “but we still need to plan out how the CDs and vinyls will look, and get them made in time.”  
  
“Speaking of that,” Dave stopped bouncing his rubber ball for a moment and looked at Brandon, “I have a vague idea. You know, for the art and shit.”  
  
“Pitch it at us,” Ronnie muttered and Brandon nodded.  
  
“Well, we had cameras in all of our faces for the past three years,” Dave continued, “even Ronnie started taking pictures of us when he saved up and got his first good camera. I think it’d be cool if we found some funny ones and put them on the album.” The guitarist was quick to defend himself, “Before you call me a dumbass—it’d be so fitting! All of the pictures would be from the past which is where we got a majority of the songs on this album from. And it’d be entertaining for the fans to see.”  
  
Brandon nodded slowly, “We could put like framed borders around them and make them look like they’re hung up somewhere.”  
  
“Yeah!,” Dave laughed in agreement, “I just don’t know if that’s a good cover.”  
  
“Well, it doesn’t have to be the cover,” Ronnie noted, “we could put it in the booklet or something.” All four of them nodded and agreed without saying a word—they were all tired.  
  
“Ronnie, you probably have a majority of the pictures,” Mark commented.  
  
“Yeah, I basically have a whole hard drive dedicated to the ones I took on the road. I printed a majority of them, though, along with ones that other people took.”  
  
“Aw!” Brandon tilted his head back and smiled at Ronnie, “we can look through them together when we get home!”  
  
“Just don’t slip in any of your sex pictures into the batch. It wouldn’t go over too well with the press, I don’t think,” Dave teased.  
  
“We don’t have any, Dave,” Brandon glared at the guitarist.  
  
“We should,” Ronnie said with a lingering smirk.  
  
Brandon looked at Ronnie again with a grin, “The night is still young- ow!”  
  
Dave had thrown the ball at Brandon, hitting him right in the ribcage, “You can flirt around me all you want but I don’t want to hear about how you are going to take pictures of you rimming each other.”  
  
Ronnie scoffed and cackled while Brandon just blushed.  
  
“Are we done for the day?” Mark finally broke the silence that followed, which was unusual for the bassist.  
  
“Yeah,” Brandon said before pointing to Dave, “I just have one question.”  
  
“No, Brandon, I’m not telling you how I know what rimming is-”  
  
“No!” Brandon rolled his eyes, “I need to know if you have the same home phone as you did when Ronnie stayed at your place and if you’ve deleted any of the messages.”  
  
“Yes and I don’t think so,” Dave quirked an eyebrow, “why?”  
  
“I want to use part of one of the voicemails in Show You How. We need a better intro for that song.”  
  
“Oh, and a forty second soundbite of you sobbing will be the perfect intro?”  
  
“Trust me!” Brandon begged, “It’ll be good. It should be the last one I sent. No tears. Just text one of us when you get home and let us know if you still have it.”  
  
“Will do, weirdo.”  
  
That’s how Ronnie Vannucci Jr. found himself sitting on his bed with his boyfriend sitting with his back against his chest with pictures laid out sporadically amongst the bed.  
  
“Aw,” Brandon cooed and showed Ronnie the picture he was holding, “look at this one. I miss my bedazzled keyboard.”  
  
Ronnie rested his head on Brandon’s shoulder, “Then bedazzle your new keyboard.”  
  
“I think this one should be taken into consideration,” Brandon ignored Ronnie’s previous comment as he placed the photo in the designated “maybe” pile, “don’t you think?” The drummer merely hummed in agreement, too tired to form a legitimate opinion.The couple looked through some more. A few more photos were added to the “definitely” pile, including one of Mark on the beach with an incredibly large stick and another of Brandon laying on the ground.  
  
They also added a picture of Dave from 2004 looking handsome, just because Dave would take any opportunity he could to show off how handsome he could be.  
  
But then Brandon came across what he thought was the Holy Grail of all pictures.  
  
“Oh my God,” Brandon laughed.  
  
“Hm?” Ronnie had since let his eyes close as his head still rested on Brandon’s shoulder.  
  
“Why wasn’t I here for this?”  
  
Ronnie could tell by the way Brandon was talking that he was on the verge of a complete laughing fit, so he opened one eye at a time and blinked before taking a look at the picture Brandon had found.  
  
There Ronnie was, falling while water skiing.  
  
“No, really,” Brandon was losing it now, “where the fuck was I when this happened?”  
  
Ronnie, suddenly awake, took the picture out of Brandon’s hands, “You weren’t feeling well and wanted to rest up before our show the next night. But the guys and I went out on Dave’s friend’s boat. You don’t remember this?”  
  
“No,” Brandon was still chuckling, “but I would have gone if I knew you were going to eat shit.”  
  
“I did not eat shit,” Ronnie said, looking at the picture of him doing just that, “I just… fell off.”  
  
Brandon had tipped over onto his side with laughter, “Put that… in the ‘definitely’ pile. Now.”  
  
“Fine,” Ronnie rolled his eyes before putting the photo in the pile and laying next to Brandon, wrapping his arm around him, “only if we can go to sleep.”  
  
“But we need to bring more options to show the guys tomorrow!” Brandon whined.  
  
“We don’t need to be at the studio again until three, baby,” Ronnie kissed the back of Brandon’s head, “we can finish looking through these tomorrow.”  
  
Brandon huffed, “Okay, but the next embarrassing one I find with you in it is definitely going in.”  
  
“Fine by me.”  
  
  
“Okay,” Dave sighed before sitting down beside an answering machine, “let’s do this shit.”  
  
“Wait,” Brandon started. “Will we still have the messages if you unplugged the phone?”  
  
Dave stared at the singer blankly, “you sure are some kind of stupid, aren't you Brandon?”  
  
“I don’t know!” Brandon defended and looked at Ronnie with an embarrassed blush on his face.  
  
“Hey,” Ronnie interjected, “cut him some slack.” Brandon smiled but then Ronnie continued, “the boy still doesn’t have caller ID.”  
  
“It’s free, Brandon!” Dave yelled, “it’s free! Are you purposely not implementing caller ID onto your phone?!”  
  
“He buys his phones straight from the manufacturer and gets them customized-”  
  
Brandon whined, “I do not! Stop it!” He took a step towards the answering machine and examined the buttons. “Let’s just get on with it.”  
  
Dave hit the button that led them to his voicemail inbox. He pressed it again to play them chronologically, and the phone spoke, “You have six saved messages—first message sent Sunday, March-”  
  
“Wait,” Ronnie said, “are these the only voicemails you have saved?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dave scoffed, “they are the only ones worth listening to.”  
  
“Dave!” Brandon stomped his foot like a child having a fit. “Don't tell me you listen to these!”  
  
Mark rolled his eyes from the corner of the room and put his face in his hands, “Can we please continue?”  
  
The voicemail had been playing in the background this entire time, but it was the calmest one of the bunch. The guitarist eventually spoke up, “Yeah, this one is pretty vanilla compared to the others.”  
  
“Dave,” Ronnie said curtly, trying to fight the smile on his face.  
  
Dave rolled his eyes as the next voicemail began. This one hurt Ronnie more than the last. As soon as past-Brandon said, “Listen, I understand you don’t want anything to do with me—I wouldn’t if I were in your position” Ronnie was reminded of how he felt the entire week he had received this. The drummer instinctively wrapped his arm around Brandon, who was standing next to him with his arms crossed.  
  
“Dave,” Brandon sighed, “you know which voicemail it is. Please just go to that one.”  
  
“You’re right,” Dave said with a smirk, “I think… I think it’s this one.” The band watched as the guitarist skipped the third message and played the fourth one instead, “...I miss you, baby. I need you to come back—you were right. I am broken. I can't do this alone. P-Please help me get better, Ron. I love you.”  
  
“Dave, stop,” Ronnie did seem angry now. If only Mark hadn’t been giggling maybe Dave would have stopped.  
  
“It’s funny, right?” Dave motioned to the bassist.  
  
“You’re being such a fucking asshole!” Brandon lunged for the answering machine but Dave blocked him.  
  
“You guys are perfectly happy now! Look at you! I love you two!” Dave exclaimed, “I’m just trying to make light of this… break or whatever you guys had.”  
  
“Well you’re being an ass about it,” Brandon added.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Dave finally said, “I just wanted to hear the one where you got angry at Ronnie.”  
  
“Wait,” Brandon turned his head to the side in confusion, “I got angry at Ronnie?”  
  
“Oh,” Dave grimaced, “you probably don’t remember too much of that night.”  
  
“I’m going to kill myself with that answering machine,” Ronnie groaned with his hands over his face, “don’t play it, Dave, please.”  
  
“Well,” Brandon looked back at Ronnie, “I want to know what I said.”  
  
Ronnie chuckled, but there was no joy in the sound, “you really don’t.”  
  
“Please?” Brandon said, “I hate that I can’t remember it.”  
  
The drummer finally raised his hands in defeat before letting them fall to his sides, “Fine.”  
  
Dave immediately hit play, “-uck you, Ronnie. Fuck you. I hope you got what you wanted, ‘cause I sure didn't. You’ve ruined this band and you’ve ruined my life. I wish I had never met you—this would have never happened then. I would be fine then. You know what? I know you got what you wanted—you’ve changed my mind—about you, about us, about everything. I hope you're happy, Ronnie Vannucci. I hope your wish came true. Goodbye.”  
  
The band was silent for a few moments, until Mark spoke up, “Holy shit, dude.”  
  
Dave couldn’t help but let out a laugh, which he quickly attempted to stifle as he watched Brandon look at Ronnie, “I’m so sorry.”  
  
“Hey,” Ronnie faked a grin, “it’s okay. Like Dave said, that’s in our past. We love each other.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess,” Brandon said unconvincingly, “I still acted like a total asshole, though.”  
  
“I mean, you did,” Ronnie admitted, “you got that right.” The singer looked upset, and Ronnie felt the need to lighten the mood, “But we have Nikita now! We have our family.”  
  
“Oh dear Lord,” Dave’s face paled, “please don’t tell me you adopted a child.” Mark’s face shared the same look of pure fear.  
  
“What?! No, no!” Ronnie shook his head, “we got a dog.”  
  
“I don’t even know if I trust Brandon with one of those,” Dave shook his head. “Why does it have the same name as half of Russia’s male population?”  
  
“She’s a husky.” Brandon deadpanned.  
  
“Let’s just get this voicemail recorded! Okay?” The guitarist smiled and press play on the final message.  
  
It sounded just like Ronnie remembered, and he couldn’t help but smile and hold the younger man’s hand. Brandon squeezed the drummer’s hand and looked back at him with a sad smile.  
  
About twenty-five seconds had passed, and the voicemail ended. More silence filled the room before Dave finally spoke up, “Sounds cool.”  
  
“We can layer some background instruments so it doesn’t sound as…” Mark looked for the right word, “depressing.”  
  
Brandon scoffed, “yeah, yeah I think it definitely needs that.”  
  
“We should edit it so the voice doesn’t say the date it was sent,” Ronnie added, “I don’t think the fans give a damn when Brandon sent this.”  
  
“Someone might,” Brandon mumbled under his breath.  
  
“We can do it all in post,” Dave waved his hand absentmindedly, “for now we might want to think about adding the background instruments. And recording the rest of Brandon’s lyrics.”  
  
“It’d be nice to finish this before we went to New York,” Ronnie noted, making Brandon groan quietly to himself. The drummer squeezed his hand in reassurance.  
  
“Well,” Dave stood up from his chair, “it’s time for The Killers to get to work.”  
  
“Brandon, you and Ronnie sit across from each other on the longer sides. Mark and Dave, you sit at the ends.” There was a scuffling of feet as each man went to his respective seat. The old chairs squeaked against the wood floors, making Brandon cringe at the sound.  
  
Anthony Mandler, the director of the music video, grinned at the scene in front of him. “We’ll turn the red lights on and you'll do some sceance-y things.”  
  
“What after that?” The drummer spoke up from his spot at the table.  
  
“I’ll only need Brandon after this scene. You guys are free to go once we’re done,” Anthony answered. Brandon scowled. He wanted to leave too.  
  
“Is that all?” The singer sounded bored as he asked the question.  
  
“That’s all!” The director exclaimed. “Don’t be afraid to look angry!”  
  
After a few minutes the room went dark as the windows blocked any streams of New York sun. Next, harsh red lights flashed on above the band giving everything a sinister look.  
  
Brandon thought the filming of that particular scene was awkward. All scenes were awkward but that one was really awkward. Something about the dark lighting combined with the words he sang and the band’s presence at the table made him feel off. This soon went away however once they finished. The crew all clapped and cheered as the director proclaimed that they had gotten all the shots needed. Amidst the chaos Ronnie leaned towards Brandon and quipped “this table reminds me our ours!”. Brandon smiled at the odd comment.  
  
“We can do Lou’s stuff next,” Anthony said to the band once the room had calmed. “He’ll be here soon, so you can take a break for a little bit, Brandon. The crew is going out to lunch.” He left soon after that to do some business things, leaving the band alone.  
  
Dave broke the silence, “There’s this restaurant on 52nd Street,” he started, “that’s only for famous people—allegedly. Me and Mark were planning on going and wanted to know if you wanted to come.”  
  
“Now?” Ronnie asked. “What about Brandon?”  
  
“They have weird hours,” the guitarist replied sheepishly. “You don't have to go if you don't want to.”  
  
“It’s okay, Ron,” Brandon interjected. “I'm not hungry anyway—I had something from the food cart earlier.” Ronnie looked between his boyfriend and bandmate.  
  
“I don't know….” The drummer trailed off.  
  
Mark then decided to throw in his two-cents and stated, “the food there is very fresh.” Everyone looked at the bassist for a moment before anyone spoke.  
  
“I think I’ll just stick with Brandon.” Ronnie said. “Maybe we’ll find a nice Italian place later.” He smiled at his boyfriend but the act was not returned.  
  
“All we eat is Italian,” Brandon deadpanned. “I want something else for once, please.”  
  
Ronnie looked back to Dave and ignored Brandon’s comment, “we’ll figure something out. You two go ahead.”  
  
The guitarist shrugged and soon left with Mark leaving Brandon and Ronnie alone. They wandered the warehouse in silence, enjoying each other’s company. The place was kind of creepy but the sounds of busy New York streets took the singer out of the horror movie-like atmosphere.  
  
“How do you think Nikita is doing?” Ronnie asked. Brandon shrugged in response.  
  
“I’m sure she is fine,” Brandon said. “I miss my girl. I wish we could have gotten someone else to watch her.”  
  
Ronnie scoffed, “you’ve gotta let what happened between us and Brain go! He likes us!”  
  
“I know!” Brandon defended. “It’s just weird having other people know.”  
  
“Dave and Mark know,” Ronnie pointed out.  
  
The singer struggled to find the words he was looking for. “Yeah but… we know them.”  
  
“Brandon,” Ronnie stated calmly. “I’m gonna ask you a hypothetical question and I don’t want you to freak out.”  
  
“I’m not going to freak out-” Ronnie hushed the man. “Fine.”  
  
Ronnie took a deep breathe, “what if the public finds out one day?”  
  
Brandon made a choking noise. Ronnie grimaced.  
  
“I’m not saying we have to,” the drummer continued. “It’s just that one day people are going to get suspicious.”  
  
Brandon whined and went to sit at a dusty piano bench that was in the room the couple had just entered. “No one will get suspicious.” He stated. “We’re too careful.”  
  
“But if they did.” Ronnie repeated as he joined Brandon at the bench. “Hypothetically.”  
  
The singer thought for a moment. “I think I’d hypothetically die.”  
  
“Be serious, Brandon.”  
  
“I am.” The two locked eyes as Brandon said this. Ronnie had been worried about his boyfriend’s answer, and rightfully so.  
  
Ronnie suddenly swiveled around and faced the piano. “C’mon,” he said. “Play me a song, baby.” Brandon awkwardly shifted in his seat and stared down at the ivory keys. After deciding what to do he rose one hand to the piano and began to play a short melody that immediately warmed Ronnie’s heart.  
  
The good thing about this song was that Ronnie could join in, the drummer mirrored Brandon’s actions with his left hand, making the other man laugh.  
  
“Wrong hand,” he grinned.  
  
Ronnie groaned but continued to play with his left hand, “I’ve done this maybe ten times, give me a break.”  
  
The drummer had to stop at one point because Brandon’s melody branched off into the part he didn't know, but he was content in watching his boyfriend work his magic. Brandon broke off into a repeating chord and looked at Ronnie expectantly. It took the drummer a moment to realize what his boyfriend was asking him to do but he eventually got it.  
  
Ronnie sang about dolls and dreamy eyes and eventually understood the unsaid message Brandon was sending him with his own deep brown eyes.  
  
A buzzing could be heard down the short hall that led to the master bathroom. Ronnie didn't think anything of it, though. Brandon was just giving his facial hair a little trim, that was all. Ronnie knew this well—after all, he also had a good amount of beard hair.  
  
The drummer sat in the large bed he and Brandon shared and flipped through many uninteresting TV channels as he waited for Brandon. He eventually stopped on an episode of How It’s Made that was about butter. Deciding that this was as good as things were gonna get, he dropped the remote on his lap and leaned back against the headboard.  
  
After five minutes of butter-making with constant buzzing in the background Ronnie noticed that Brandon had been in the bathroom for a while. He called for his boyfriend to see if he was okay and received an “it’s all good here!” from Brandon. Ronnie nodded to no one in particular and returned his gaze to the TV. He was now learning how to make glass marbles.  
  
Only a few minutes into the new episode, Ronnie noticed something at the edge of his vision. The drummer looked back to the doorway to see a single pale leg (with a tall black sock) swinging in the doorframe.  
  
Ronnie chuckled lightly, “are you a hooker now?” He asked. The leg slid out of Ronnie’s line of sight in a sensual manner, making the drummer’s smile widen. His boyfriend was weird.  
  
The top of Brandon’s head (hair to the top of his nose) appeared at the side of the doorway and Ronnie could tell he was ginning ear to ear by the look in his eyes.  
  
“Maybe,” Brandon said, head still in its uncomfortable position. “I could be, though.”  
  
Ronnie snorted. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Uh…” Brandon looked around the room with uncertain eyes. “I’ve drawn too much attention to this and now I feel awkward.”  
  
Ronnie rolled his eyes, “what did you do?” Brandon inched away from the open door’s opening, hiding from the drummer. “Please, Brandon!” He whined, “I wanna see it!”  
  
Brandon groaned and pressed his head against the doorframe. His eyes slid shut and Ronnie saw him nod his head subtly a couple times as if he was giving himself a countdown. Ronnie glanced away for a moment to turn the TV off and when he looked back his smile dropped.  
  
He had to be dead. This was far too good to be a dream, Ronnie decided.  
  
Brandon stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms at his sides and making intense eye-contact with Ronnie.  
  
“You-” the drummer struggled to find the right words. “You-”  
  
“If you don't like it I can go back to the-”  
  
“NO!” Ronnie scrambled off the bed (nearly getting caught in the sheets and falling in the process) and made his way to Brandon. “No, no, no, please-”  
  
“Jesus!” Brandon exclaimed. “How ugly was I before?” Ronnie would have thought the singer was being serious if the younger man’s smile wasn't so obvious.  
  
“Oh, you're so pretty!” Ronnie reached for his partner’s face and ran his hands over the now smooth skin. “Oh my god!” Brandon shut his eyes and leaned into the touch.  
  
“I knew you’d like it.” The singer said after a moment.  
  
“I’m astonished!” Ronnie beamed. “I could kiss you right now!”  
  
Brandon opened his eyes and smirked, “then why don't you?”  
  
Ronnie needed no further instruction, as his hands made their way up to the sides of Brandon’s head before connecting their lips. The singer was still obviously smirking into the kiss as he pulled Ronnie closer to him.  
  
Ronnie began moving backwards, taking Brandon along with him. Brandon chuckled against Ronnie’s lips—he had never seen Ronnie so infatuated before.  
  
When the back of Ronnie’s knees hit the bed, he let himself and his boyfriend fall back onto it, making the younger man yelp.  
  
“Oh my,” Brandon said, now straddling Ronnie’s lap, “I would have done this long ago if I knew you’d like it this much.”  
  
Ronnie rested his hand on the back of Brandon’s head, gently guiding him back to his lips. As he cradled Brandon’s face in his hands, his thumb stroked the soft skin of Brandon’s cheek. His lips slowly moved over the smoothness of Brandon’s upper lip before he pulled away, “That does make me wonder—why did you grow it out in the first place?”  
  
“Because, Ron,” Brandon touched his forehead to Ronnie’s with a smirk, “ I was just so jealous that you could grow better facial hair than me.”  
  
Ronnie snorted, “Well, nothing has really changed, has it?” Brandon giggled before kissing Ronnie again, falling back into the same pattern as before.  
  
The drummer’s hands wandered to Brandon’s hips, where his thumbs traced over the bump of Brandon’s hipbones tenderly. Their tongues were now gliding against each other, making Brandon sigh against the older man’s lips.  
  
When Ronnie tugged at Brandon’s bottom lip with his teeth, the singer whined softly and reached for the waistband of Ronnie’s sweatpants.  
  
But, just as he did so, a beautiful Husky jumped on the bed and barked at the couple.  
  
Brandon pulled away from the kiss, smiling at Nikita, “Hey, baby!”  
  
“Cockblocked by a dog,” Ronnie said, reaching over and petting her soft, snow-white fur, “that’s a first.”  
  
“C’mon, Ron,” Brandon said through a grin, “we can’t do it in front of her.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Ronnie yawned, “I’m kinda tired anyways. Seeing your young face again reminded me of how old I am.” Brandon cackled before placing one final kiss to Ronnie’s forehead.  
  
While the couple was under the covers later on, with the soft blue tint of night surrounding them, Ronnie admired Brandon’s new look silently. However, he soon spoke up.  
  
“Hey, baby?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“So, why did you shave it?”  
  
“Ron,” Brandon smiled against Ronnie’s chest, “the guy who sings Human doesn’t have a mustache.”  
  
The drummer chuckled lightly, “I guess you're right.”  
  
“Goodnight, Ron.”  
  
“‘Night, baby doll.”  
  
Brandon smiled softly and let his eyes flutter shut.


End file.
